Chapter 14
Fourteen
Katriana
Afew days have passed since Drake left me trembling in the hallway outside my bedroom door, and the tension between us has become a living thing that breathes and pulses in every space we share.
Every morning he finds excuses to touch me.
His hand on my lower back as we walk through the building, the warmth of his palm searing through the thin fabric of my blouse until I can feel the imprint of each finger against my spine.
The brush of his knuckles when he passes me files, a contact so brief it could be accidental if not for the heat that sparks through my veins every single time.
A kiss stolen in the elevator between floors, quick and hungry, his mouth claiming mine for three heartbeats before the doors slide open and we have to pretend we're nothing more than employer and assistant.
I’ve learned not to wear lipstick.
We haven't gone further than that night in the hallway.
I'm not ready, and he seems to know it without me having to explain.
There's a wall inside me that I've spent years building, brick by careful brick, mortared with every betrayal and disappointment and broken promise.
Jonah tried to breach that wall with pressure and manipulation.
Victor tried to breach it with fear. But Drake.
.. Drake is doing something far more dangerous.
He's making me want to tear it down myself.
I'm still thinking about the way he looked at me this morning, his gray eyes tracking the movement of my tongue when I licked coffee from my lip, when my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.
Lunch today? I think we should get to know each other. Our men are inseparable. We might as well be friends. -Persia
I stare at the message for a long moment, curiosity warring with nerves. Persia Milano. The woman who tamed Rafael. The woman who walked through fire and came out the other side with a ring on her finger and a baby in her arms.
I type back before I can talk myself out of it.
I'd like that.
The restaurant she chooses is small and intimate, tucked into a side street near Redthorne Holdings.
The scent of fresh bread and rosemary hits me the moment I step inside, warm and welcoming against the crisp autumn air that followed me through the door.
Persia is already seated at a corner table bathed in soft natural light from a nearby window, her violet hair pulled back from a face that radiates warmth despite the sharpness of her features.
She rises to greet me with a hug that catches me off guard.
She smells like roses and baby powder and something expensive I can't name, and the unexpected comfort of her embrace makes my throat tighten with emotions I wasn't prepared to feel.
When was the last time another woman held me like this?
Like I mattered? Like I was worth the effort of friendship?
"Katriana." Her voice is warm against my ear. "I'm so glad you came."
“Me too. It’s…not often this happens.”
Her eyes light up. “What?”
“Going out to lunch with a girlfriend. The grind is all I’ve known for a long time. When I told Drake he made me agree to security so if you see guys in black suits I guess they are here for me.”
“Believe it or not, this is all new to me too. And ditto. Rafael isn’t over my former fiancé trying to kill me. The bodyguards are essential to their peace of mind.”
We settle into our seats and order, the sounds of the restaurant wrapping around us like a cocoon. The clink of silverware against porcelain. The low murmur of other conversations. The soft jazz playing through hidden speakers. I find myself relaxing into the atmosphere despite my nerves.
The conversation flows easier than I expected. Persia asks about my work, about adjusting to life at Redthorne, about the strangeness of falling into a world where men carry guns and grant wishes and treat violence like just another business expense.
"It doesn't get less strange," she admits with a laugh that crinkles the corners of her aqua eyes. She takes a sip of wine, the ruby liquid catching the light. "You just learn to live with it. And eventually, you realize the strangeness is worth it for the man at the center."
"How did you know?" The question escapes before I can stop it. I set down my fork, the pasta I've been pushing around my plate suddenly unimportant. "That you could trust him, I mean?"
Persia considers me with an expression that holds both warmth and hard-won wisdom. The sounds of the restaurant seem to fade as she leans forward, her voice dropping to something more intimate.
"I didn't. Not completely. Not at first." She traces the rim of her wine glass with one finger, the gesture slow and contemplative. "I walked away from him, you know. Did Drake tell you that? I left because I needed to know I could. Because I needed to choose him rather than be chosen for him."
"And you came back."
God, this woman feels like a soul sister already. I wrap that sentiment up in tissue paper and pack it away for later. I don’t need to get all gushy and make her feel weird.
"I came back." Her smile softens with memory, and I watch something beautiful bloom across her features.
Love, I realize. Pure, uncomplicated love.
"Because I wanted to. Because he proved himself in a thousand small moments.
Trust builds, Katriana. It's not a switch you flip.
It's those moments where they show you who they really are when no one's watching. "
Understanding blooms.
I think about Drake. The way he stopped when I asked him to wait, his body trembling with restraint but his respect for my boundaries absolute.
The library kiss where he announced his intention and gave me the choice to refuse.
The protection of my family without being asked, without expecting anything in return.
The way he looks at me like I'm precious instead of owed, like I'm a person instead of a transaction.
"Drake wants that too, you know." Persia's voice pulls me back to the present. "The family. The future. He just doesn't know how to ask for it. He's spent too long being alone."
“You know about the wish and the contract?”
She nods. “It’s how I met Rafael too. Your situation isn’t as unique as you think. We all have secrets in our closet.” She reaches out and settles her hand over mine for a moment then withdraws. But the sentiment stays with me.
She pulls out her phone and shows me pictures of Sofia. All dark curls and chubby cheeks and eyes that already hold her father's intensity. The baby wears a onesie that says "Daddy's Little Boss" and my heart clenches at the sweetness of it.
"She has Rafael wrapped around her tiny finger," Persia laughs, scrolling through more photos.
Sofia covered in what looks like sweet potato puree.
Sofia sleeping on Rafael's chest, his tattooed hand spanning her entire back.
Sofia staring at the camera with an expression of pure, unimpressed judgment that makes me laugh out loud.
"She's beautiful."
"She's everything." The love in Persia's face when she talks about her daughter makes my chest ache with a longing I didn't know I carried.
A longing for something I've never let myself want because wanting felt too dangerous when survival was all I could manage.
"I never thought I'd have this. A husband who worships me.
A daughter who makes every hard thing worth it.
But I do. And you can too, if you're brave enough to reach for it. "
We part outside the restaurant with another hug and a promise to do this again soon. I watch her slide into a waiting car, my mind spinning with everything she said.
Trust builds. A thousand small moments.
I'm still cataloging the moments Drake has given me when I step off the elevator at Redthorne, my heels clicking against the marble floor in a rhythm that matches my scattered heartbeat.
A hand closes around my wrist.
Before I can react, I'm being pulled sideways through a door I barely register. The sound of the lock engaging echoes through the sudden silence, and I find myself in an empty boardroom with my back pressed against the polished conference table and Drake Moses blocking my only exit.
He's shed his jacket somewhere, his sleeves rolled up to reveal those forearms that make my mouth water.
The overhead lights catch the silver in his hair, turning him into something almost otherworldly.
His gray eyes are dark with hunger, his chest rising and falling with breaths that seem to match the frantic rhythm of my own.
"Drake, what are you—"
He kisses me before I can finish the question.
This isn't like the kisses we've stolen in elevators and hallways. This kiss is pure, raw hunger.
Demanding.
His mouth claims mine with a ferocity that steals my breath, his tongue sweeping past my lips like he has every right to take whatever he wants. The taste of him floods my senses, coffee and something darker, something that makes heat pool low in my belly and spread through my limbs like wildfire.
And God help me, I let him.
My back hits the edge of the boardroom table and he lifts me onto it without breaking the kiss, his hands gripping my hips with a possessiveness that sends electricity racing across my skin.
He steps between my thighs, spreading them wider to accommodate the breadth of his body, and the heat of him pressing against my core makes me gasp into his mouth.
My skirt rides up my legs as I wrap them around his waist, the cool air of the boardroom kissing my exposed thighs. The contrast with the heat of his body makes me shiver. I pull him closer, needing more, needing everything, needing this man in ways that should terrify me.