Gone with the Wolf - By Kristin Miller Page 0,53
with a formidable bow and bench seats lining the cabin. Although the boat was dark and quiet, bobbing smoothly on the water, Emelia bet the thing was powerful at sea—a beast. She stepped beneath a balcony to get protection from the rain. As if the storm knew the second she’d found somewhere dry, the rain began to fall harder, dripping from the edges of the awning like a lightly streaming waterfall. Drake popped the lid on a bench on the deck as Emelia breathed deep. How had she ended up on the most luxurious yacht she’d ever seen, on Lake Washington, in the middle of a rainstorm, with the elusive Drake Wilder? Two months ago she wouldn’t have believed she’d be here.
“Here.” He draped a towel around her shoulders, then pulled her against him.
Emelia’s body responded to Drake’s body, not the terry cloth, and instantly warmed.
“Better?” he asked, pulling back to look into her eyes. “Your lips aren’t so purple.”
“Thank you.” Lifting up on tiptoe, Emelia kissed him with all the passion she’d kept buried inside. She tried to snapshot this moment—the sound of the rain, the way her stomach somersaulted when his tongue slipped inside her mouth. She wanted to keep this memory with her always. It was dreamlike. Beyond surreal.
Emelia’s heart pinched as realization struck her like a thunderclap. This wasn’t her reality…it might as well have been a dream. Drake wanted to show her what it would be like if she lived with him day and in and day out. If this was the life Drake wanted her to see—jet-setting to galas in the city, mansions in Seattle and San Francisco, and spending the night on an elegant yacht—she didn’t fit. She was a middle-class, hardworking bartender. She couldn’t talk to his associates the way he did. She couldn’t drive his Mercedes every day, though she’d started to get used to how that car could get up and go.
How long would it take before Drake realized she didn’t belong in his world?
As Emelia put her head on Drake’s chest and scanned the long length of the yacht, she realized she was out of her league. If this was the way Drake lived, she’d never live up to it. She refused to live her life feeling inferior to what Drake had to offer. If they were going to be “bonded”—as he put it—she would need to feel like Drake’s match.
If Emelia said yes to Drake, would she be marrying the businessman, or the carefree man who flapped around buck-naked in the lake? Would she be marrying the stern, unshakable man who loved extravagances that she couldn’t dream of having, or the man she met in the wine cellar when he could’ve been the janitor or company security? If she was going to consider spending her life with him, Emelia needed more reality and less of…this.
An idea struck.
“I think I’d like to let you take me on that date,” she said, as lightning lit the sky.
Would Drake continue to try to impress her with glitz and glamor or would he be the man she wanted him to be?
“I have some last-minute business to take care of tomorrow,” he said, “but how does Friday night sound?”
“I have to work the bar on Friday.”
“After your shift then?” He didn’t skip a beat.
What kind of date starts at two in the morning?
“Okay,” she said, struggling to remember that the date would have to happen on his terms. “Friday night sounds perfect.” As a light on his neighbor’s back porch clicked on, Emelia smiled. “I think your neighbors might be peeping on us.”
“Only if they have a telescopic lens.” Craning his neck around, Drake peered through the rain. Without warning, he hauled Emelia against him and bent her back into a dance-like dip. “If they’re watching, let’s give them the show of their lives.”
Emelia’s body surged with heat as Drake possessed her mouth and dragged her to the floor.
Chapter Sixteen
Early Friday morning, Raul pushed through the glass door leading to the conference room and took the seat across from Drake. The table was black and glossy, reflecting the blue of Raul’s tie like a streak of lightning across a starless sky.
“Sorry I’m late, sir,” Raul said. It looked like stress lines had been permanently etched into his face. “I have news on Silas.”
They had assigned packmates to trail Silas since the night of the gala, but hadn’t heard back. Silas had fled to the airport, where he’d had a private jet on standby.