Gone with the Wolf - By Kristin Miller Page 0,26

more of this. Less dry, rational thought. He coiled his arms around her tiny waist and scooped her off her feet. Keeping their lips fused together, Drake spun around and placed Emelia on the edge of his desk. She broke contact, only for a second. Shoved his entire desk spread to the floor. Scooted back and spread her legs. Desperate to touch her, to keep that spark firing in his gut, Drake wedged himself between Emelia’s thighs. Her hair fell around her face and down to her shoulders, creating a golden mane that slipped through his fingers like strands of fine silk.

For a freeze-framed moment, Drake didn’t care about the deed to a building on Porter Street or the fact that if Emelia turned into a werewolf, she’d never be able to have his children. There was only the sound of Emelia’s rapid breathing and the hard pounding of his heart.

With a few swift tugs, Emelia loosened Drake’s tie and unfastened the top buttons of his shirt. She pulled him down for another kiss, sliding her hips to the edge of the desk to meet him.

He kissed her harder, deeper, plunging his tongue into her mouth. Emelia met him stroke for stroke, and in one hard jerk, shoved his shirt down past his shoulders. On a moan, Drake tugged Emelia against him, her warm center flush against his straining shaft. He had to strip off her clothes and eliminate the cotton-blend barrier between them. He was desperate to feel the long spread of her legs wrap around him.

A symphony of knocks rapped on the door.

Brakes.

Emelia gasped, rolling off the desk as Drake backed away, stunned by what he—they—were about to do.

“One minute,” he called out, shrugging into his shirt.

Scrambling to pick up the things she’d swiped to the floor, Emelia whispered something to herself that sounded like “way to go.” After retying his tie and failing to hide his massive erection by pressing down the front of his slacks, Drake crouched and helped gather scattered pens and papers.

“I didn’t plan for this to happen, I should’ve—”

“Sir,” Raul said, pounding on the door twice more. “I’ve got Wilder Air on the phone and neither of your secretaries is out here to take the call. They need to know which jet you’d prefer to take to the Vanguard Gala.”

Damn it. The charity event was this Saturday. He’d nearly forgotten.

He couldn’t leave Emelia alone. Not when they still hadn’t figured out which rogue group her attacker belonged to. He’d never live with himself if he left her behind and something horrible happened.

“Listen,” he said, brushing her hand over a paper tray. “I have this thing going on Saturday night and I usually bring someone from the office along as my guest. Would you like to go with me?”

“I…umm…” Emelia shook her head as if she was in some sort of daze. “I don’t think—”

“Sir, is everything all right?” Raul hollered.

“One minute!” Drake wrapped his fingers around Emelia’s hand. Her skin was warm to the touch, buzzing through his palm. Would the connection between them ever fade? “It’s a business function with a lot of people from the San Francisco office. It’ll probably be a bore, but at least it’ll get you out of Seattle for the weekend. Have you ever been to the city?”

She shook her head, sending blond tendrils of hair tumbling past her shoulders. He couldn’t wait to see what she looked like glammed up. She’d be radiant. Showstopping. On second thought, they’d be in a crowded ballroom with hundreds of men gawking at her. He’d claw out every eyeball that veered her way. Drake clamped down on the possessive surge before it got him in trouble.

“The city’s beautiful; you’d love it.” Thankful his slacks no longer pitched at the groin, Drake stood and helped Emelia to her feet. “Say you’ll come with me.”

Staring as if she couldn’t believe what was happening, Emelia’s lips parted into what Drake read as a “yeah”…but no words came out.

“Is that a yes?”

More knocks. One slow nod.

It was a date…probably the most important one of his life.

Chapter Eight

Emelia was officially the dumbest woman on the planet. She was stupid. Beyond stupid. Mortifyingly, horrifyingly, moronically…stupid.

She stared at the deed she’d bought from Jared “Needles” Branch and fought to keep her mouth from gaping. Even now, five days after she’d realized that it was a fraud and that she’d been taken for a ride, her stomach still soured. She’d been so proud of the damn thing that