came from heartless parents who fought for big businesses and accounted little for people’s feelings.”
“You never cease to amaze me.” He shook his head. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”
“I’m not sure what I feel, actually.” Emelia closed the distance between them and placed both her hands on his shoulders. “But I know it’s slowly changing.”
“Please take your seats,” the Vanguard Foundation representative blared over the microphone. He’d been chosen to host the gala not only for his role in the company, but for his Barry White baritone. “The reception is about to begin.”
Drake braced himself as floodgates of desire burst open inside him. His hands found Emelia’s waist and he tugged her against him, cherishing the feel of her body against his. This was how it should be always—the two of them together. The thought struck Drake like a drum, vibrating through his body. He wanted to bond with her, bury himself deep inside her, and live every day of his life making her glow with happiness.
But would it be enough if she couldn’t give him children? Would his pack respect him anyway? God, he wished the answers were easier to understand. He wanted to believe that it didn’t matter. That he’d control the pack without an heir just fine. But it did matter on some level. His father had beaten the concept of pack pride into him since he was young enough to understand. His father had also been the one to tell him that turned werewolves were not strong enough to fit with the rest…
“When I first met you I thought there was nothing to you,” Emelia whispered. “I thought you were cold and merciless, chopping small businesses off at the knees for your own selfish gain. But you’re not that way at all, not really.”
“No,” he said, catching the sincerity in her gaze. “Not really, but don’t tell anyone. You’d ruin my bad-boy image.”
His skin warmed beneath her hands, radiating through his chest. He could kiss her, right here, right now. She was so close, her lips parting in supple invitation. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.
“I think it’s easy for people to mistake your keen business sense for harshness, but there’s more to you than meets the eye.” She leaned in close, until Drake’s stomach tumbled. “Certain times, like in the cellar, in your office, and right now, I feel warmth brewing inside you. I think you pretend to be cold so no one gets close.”
“You’re close now,” he said against her lips.
“I am.” Her breath hitched as her gaze drifted down his chest. “And I like what I feel.”
Hot-blooded impulses fired in Drake’s middle, dizzying him. He braced himself on the balcony behind Emelia and guided her against the railing. She smiled, anticipating the pressure of his body.
“Do they follow you everywhere?” Emelia asked, tilting her head at the guards, who were pretending not to watch their interlude.
He couldn’t take his eyes off the plumpness of her lips. “They’re here for your protection.”
“My protection?” Her voice was a delicious whisper. “From who? You?”
“Maybe.”
Why did he just say that? Because he was a werewolf and she was a woman with no knowledge of their world? Damn it. If he didn’t know better, he would say he’d just spoken the truth.
“Serephina Vanguard is the reason we are here tonight.” The host’s voice boomed from the hall as the hum in Drake’s stomach amplified.
“I don’t need to be protected from you, Drake. Not anymore. Come on.” Emelia slipped from his hold and headed toward the stairs. “I don’t want to miss this.”
The host’s voice continued to rumble through the hall as Drake escorted Emelia down the grand staircase and found their seats at the edge of the room. For the first time since he’d hosted the gala, Drake wondered how quickly he could slip out of the hall and take Emelia somewhere private.
“She was born in 1850 to a poor family from New York City and passed away in San Francisco in 1938. Serephina Vanguard had no children, and instead chose to donate her time raising the creative climate of San Francisco. Her legacy continues, only through the grace of supporters like you.”
Drake pinched his eyes shut as he pushed in Emelia’s chair, hoping she didn’t pay attention to the details in the host’s speech. The burn-through-his-skin glare Drake received when he sat beside Emelia proved his worst fears.
“You told me she was your mother.” She leaned over without looking at him, and talked to