Gone with the Wolf - By Kristin Miller Page 0,19
leading to biceps that might’ve been bigger than her thighs. He seemed to flex and tighten under the weight of her stare.
The sheer size of him, and the way he stood so stoically as if he didn’t know what to say, brought memories of the night in front of the Knight Owl raining down.
“What happened?” Emelia fired. “Where am I?”
“You’re at my place. I hope you slept all right.” He paused, staring at her face, her lips, then reached out for her mouth. “You’ve got—”
She flinched, not trusting a single move he made. “What are you doing?”
“You’re…” His eyes squinted to dark and stormy slits. Drake swiped his tongue over his bottom lip and reached out hesitantly. “You’ve got something…”
“What?” She backed away, rubbing her bottom lip, her cheek. “Spit it out.”
His stony demeanor cracked as a smile curved his lips. “You’ve got a glaze mustache.”
Disaster. Drake was drop-dead gorgeous, and wore business attire in his own damn home. Emelia was a doughnut-slathered, hyperventilation-prone bartender, wearing the same clothes from last night. They were in two completely different leagues. The unevenness of their pedestals had never been clearer.
Wait, she scoffed to herself, who cared if Drake was once nominated as Forbes Businessman of the Year? He’d shot down the biker on the street like it was nothing!
Emelia smothered her lips with a napkin. “Better?”
Drake nodded, shoved his hands into his pockets, and took a giant step back. “I didn’t mean to disturb your breakfast. I thought I heard stirring up here and came to take a look.”
She swiped her hands on her jeans and licked the last traces of sugar from her lips. Drake’s eyes seemed to darken, shadowing from brown to matte black.
“I’m done eating anyway,” Emelia said curtly, humiliated that she’d slept in Drake’s bed and eaten his food. She should be at her place, in her own bed, rummaging through her fridge for something that wasn’t stale. “What am I doing here?”
“Saturday night, after I left your bar, I came home and did some work, then decided that I wanted to see you home after all.” He brewed a cup of coffee for himself and settled into the plush leather chair in the corner. “Mr. Bloomfield drove me back, and I did business in the backseat until you closed for the night. I got so absorbed in the stock roll that I didn’t see you lock up. I didn’t know what was happening until you came barreling out of the parking lot.”
“What…did happen?” She needed to hear the words from his lips before she went ape-shit.
He tapped the edge of his mug. “What do you think happened?”
“Some of the details are a bit fuzzy, but I remember some biker dude wanted to use my phone, and I remember seeing him leap on top of my car.” She shuddered at the creepy mental image. As she tried to sift through the haze of the rest of the night, Emelia mindlessly picked up another doughnut and settled on the edge of the bed. Her side ached, just below her hip. She rubbed the spot, then met Drake’s guilt-ridden gaze. “Something bit me right before I zonked out.”
“I should explain.” He took a deep, labored breath. “I used a very mild tranquilizer dart to put you to sleep.”
“You…what?”
“You were panicking when I needed you to stay calm. I had to get out of there quickly and knew you’d ask a ton of questions and slow our escape.”
“So you drugged me?” As white-hot pulses of anger surged through Emelia’s veins, she chucked the doughnut at Drake’s head. He dodged it effortlessly, causing it to splat against the wall behind him. “Who does that? Are you sick? Do you belong to some Seattle-based mafia?”
“I’m sorry, Emelia.” Sucker looked sincere with his plush, downturned lips. “I swear I’ll never do anything like that again. I’m not mafia of any kind, and you were never in any danger.”
Emelia’s insides squirmed—she had to move. She plopped down her coffee cup on the makeshift buffet before striding out of the room. “You didn’t roofie the coffee, did you?”
“I’m not a creep,” Drake said, following her down the brightly lit hall. “I did what I had to do to protect you and get you out of there. I’m not going to slip something into your drink to have my way with you while you’re unconscious.”
“Wouldn’t put much past you now,” she snapped.
Stopping at the top of the stairs, Emelia looked right, down a hallway lined with marble