Gone with the Wolf - By Kristin Miller Page 0,39
to get overwhelmed in the details. Not yet, anyway. Right now we need to focus on easing your transition. Why don’t you get something to eat? The entire cart is for you. There’s breadsticks, soda, salad, pizza. I promised the best in the city.”
Emelia felt her face crinkle. “I’m not hungry anymore.”
“Craving flips are normal. If the pizza’s no longer appealing, I can get you something else.”
Emelia had never been cared for this way. Not before her parents kicked her out at eighteen for being too rebellious, and not when things had been good with Undercover Jackass, before he left her at the altar.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked.
Drake’s expression softened, and once again, Emelia glimpsed the kindhearted Oz behind the ironclad business facade. “If you don’t eat, the transition will only get more difficult to handle. Your body needs fuel.”
“No,” she said, staring at the crisscross patterns in the rug. “It’s more than the transition.”
“You’re a very special woman, Emelia.” Drake set his empty glass on the floor and turned to her, sending waves of chills rolling through her body with a single glance. “If you weren’t already spoken for, I’d show you just how special you are.”
“I don’t know what gave you the impression that I’m spoken for,” Emelia said, “but believe me, on a scale of single to married, I’m beyond hopeless.”
“Your Facebook relationship status says ‘it’s complicated,’ so I assumed—”
“You checked my Facebook?” Emelia felt the first surge of anger like a lightning strike. It was harsh and hard-hitting, lancing through her temples. “You don’t seem like the social media type.”
“Trixie checked for me.”
“I see.”
“I also checked county records,” he said. “You filed for a marriage certificate, but when you applied with the temp agency, you declared that your title was Miss Emelia Hudson.” Drake’s tone slipped into accusatory territory. Like she’d kept something from him that she should’ve revealed.
She didn’t owe Drake an explanation of why the marriage didn’t happen or why she’d chosen not to tell anyone at his company. Emelia couldn’t explain why heat surged through her at the mention of her close-call marriage—maybe it was because she’d tried so hard to separate Jackass from anything involving Drake. Or maybe she was more irritable than normal. Whatever the reason, Emelia didn’t care.
She didn’t owe him anything, but she couldn’t hold back.
“I filed for a marriage certificate because I’d planned on getting married,” she spit out the words as if they were poison. “But that didn’t happen when Mr. Jackass decided he’d rather run off into the sunset with one of the strippers at his bachelor party than marry me. He left me to face everyone the next day at the wedding, to tell everyone that my shattered dreams were his amusement, to stare into everyone’s shocked faces. I wasn’t the one who wanted a big wedding in the first place. I told him I wanted to elope, but it’s not like he listened to anything I said anyway. I didn’t change my Facebook because my life is fucking complicated all around, so I thought the tag was more fitting. And if I get asked about him again, someone might lose a head.”
Drake sat in silence, gazing across the room as if he was lost in thought. The eruption of anger felt damned good. Emelia could breathe again. Think again. A weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Still, the tension clenching her stomach remained as intense as ever.
As Drake’s gaze returned to her, Emelia could’ve sworn there were thoughts of murder brewing in it. “I’m sorry for what happened,” he said, his hands clenched into fists at his side. “It’d be my pleasure to hunt down your ex-fiancé and bring him to you.”
“If you hunt him down, kill him while you’re at it,” she said. “Why the hell would I want him brought to me?”
“You accepted a proposal of marriage. Where I come from, he is still yours.”
“That’s absurd.” Emelia laughed, sensing something new emanating from Drake. It reeked of jealousy, knocking her anger off-kilter. “I don’t love him anymore.”
Drake stiffened at her words. “Then that’s something different entirely.”
There it came again—the scent of arousal blooming on the air, overpowering Emelia’s other senses. She could almost taste Drake’s pheromones. They flowed thick and rich into the air, calling her to come closer, coaxing her into submission. Her body responded to Drake on a primal level. Warm wetness pooled between her legs and her nipples hardened, waiting for his touch.
“What