Gone with the Wolf

chapter Seven


Clouds rolled in Monday morning, encasing the entire city in thick plumes of mist and fog. Drake wasn’t in the mood to get down to business quite yet, and the dreary weather wasn’t helping to motivate him. After Raul pulled files on the Knight Owl, the building on Porter Street, and Emelia Hudson’s past, all Drake could think about was cornering Emelia the instant she stepped off the elevator.

They had to talk, to straighten things out regarding the building, and how he came to purchase it. He was certain that’s why she was mad at him. Drake read the e-mails she’d sent. She’d been wrong on all counts regarding her deed and wouldn’t listen to reason. Since she wouldn’t quit with the e-mails, all messages past the first dozen had been sent straight to Raul’s spam folder. He could’ve answered an e-mail or two, but it wouldn’t have mattered legally. The facts were black and white.

Once they hashed things out, once Emelia saw the deed to her building in Drake’s hand, he had questions for her. Questions about something personal that Raul discovered—she’d applied for a marriage license one month before taking the job at Wilder. She’d accepted a proposal of marriage. In Drake’s pack, that meant that she was off-limits. Untouchable.

What happened to her fiancé? Public records didn’t show a marriage and she’d never mentioned it. The whole thing didn’t sit right with him. His coffee tasted bland, though that could’ve been because he came in early and made it himself, and his coat clung to his shoulders too tightly.

As Drake strode around the last corner and spotted Emelia slumped over her keyboard, he cleared his throat. She gasped, nearly jumped out of her chair. “Drake? I—”

“In my office,” he said, shoving open the office door. They needed to get the deed business over with so they could move on to more pressing things. Like when she’d been claimed by another.

“I wasn’t sleeping, I swear,” Emelia said, following his every step. “I was thinking…with my head down.”

“I don’t care.” He strode to the windows and went palms-down on the glass. The cold lancing through his fingers did little to soothe the possessiveness flaring in his gut.

“I should get back out there.”

“Stay,” he commanded and then on second thought, added, “Please.”

“I’m not supposed to leave my desk.” Her voice wavered with uncertainty. “What if someone calls or comes in?”

“Let Trixie take the calls,” Drake spun around, holding his breath as he brushed past her.

“Trixie’s not here. She had to run an errand downstairs.”

“We’re going to straighten out this mess with your bar,” Drake said, laying everything on the table. “And we’re going to do it now.”

Emelia stood in the center of his office, her mouth gaping as if he’d surprised her. She owned the hardworking secretary image with black dress pants that stove-piped to the floor, and a baby-blue sweater with crinkles of extra fabric at the collar. She was a chameleon, Drake gave her that much, able to adapt to the secretary role as easily as she had the bartending one.

“I know I said we should talk in the morning, but maybe we should talk about this later…when you don’t look like you’re about to kill someone.” She took a step toward him, hesitating when he put his hands up to stop her. It was better if she didn’t get too close—he wouldn’t be intoxicated by her sugary sweet scent that way. “There’s more bothering you than you’re saying. What’s going on?”

What was going on? Drake’s entire body was drawn tight, a rubber band stretched to the limit. Barely holding on to the thread of composure, Drake strode to his desk and flipped open a manila envelope filled with copies of e-mails between her and Raul. “When do you claim to have bought the building on Porter Street?”

“When do I claim to have bought it?” Emelia mocked. She coughed out a laugh. “Good choice of words. Way to rob me of my bar in one fell swoop. I own that building. The Knight Owl is mine.”

“When did you buy it and from whom?”

“Eight years ago, January.” Folding her arms over her chest, Emelia sighed, then set her gaze on his mouth. “I bought it from the guy who owned the tattoo parlor next door. I’d leased from him for years, and one day he dropped in and showed me the deed to the entire building. He said the county rezoned and informed him that he could split off the bar from the tattoo parlor. He asked for fifty grand.”

“Quite the steal, even for a building in that rough neighborhood.” Drake circled his desk and perched on the edge, crossing his feet at the ankles. It staved off the urge to kick something. Barely. “So you just handed it over?”

With a cynical string of laughs, Emelia plopped into the leather seat facing him. He fought to keep his eyes level with hers and off the cleavage revealed from the drooping slouch of her sweater. His heart continued to race, meddling with his logic.

“You forget there are people who work years to make that kind of money.” Emelia paused, and then, “I cut corners where I could, eating ramen and macaroni and cheese for months on end. I pinched pennies, couponed, worked sixteen-hour days, opening up the bar early for karaoke nights or live bands. I advertised. I sweat and bled. I was the owner, the accountant, the janitor, the historian, the hostess…I was everything. When it wasn’t enough, I took side jobs waitressing during the day. It was damn hard, but I still couldn’t save enough. The rest of the balance I put on credit cards.”

Shit, Emelia was in deeper than he thought. “Why not get a loan through a bank so the transaction would be legit?”

“He said he’d dock the sale price ten grand if I kept the banks out of it. He claimed to own the building free and clear, and had the deed to prove it, so why not? I paid him cash, and he handed me my deed. I thought I owned the place…until you sent me a notice claiming to have bought the entire building.”

Emelia’s accusations rang loud and clear. She believed that Drake had destroyed everything she’d worked for, everything she’d put her heart into. He remembered how she’d been in the bar—assertive and confident, proud that the place was built on her sweat and tears. She’d taken something that was sheer business and had made it personal. No wonder she hated him.

“We’re going to get a couple things straight.” Drake watched her cheeks redden, and waited for steam to seep from her ears, but the train raced on. “Wilder Financial sent you the notice of purchase, not me. The board holds a meeting, we look at groups of property that are worth more than the sale price, I approve or deny the project, and it goes through. We donate certain properties to the city and rebuild others. We go through banks. We check county records. Everything we do is by the book, all the time. If the scheme between you and Tattoo Parlor Guy didn’t pan out, that has little to do with me or Wilder Financial.”

“You ass.” She stood with the spirit of a fighter—a short, spunky, blue-eyed featherweight who’d pull a muscle before she hurt someone.

If Drake wasn’t drawn so tight, he might’ve laughed at the contrast between the softness of Emelia’s appearance and the feisty show she put on. If she were a wolf, Drake thought, she’d be petite, with lean muscles and a sleek stride. A young wolf who thought she could snarl and growl and raise the fur on the back of her neck to frighten away packmates, even though they could take her down with the strike of a paw.

“You are Wilder Financial,” she roared, standing up on tiptoe to better see him eye to eye. “The building has your name on it, for f*ck’s sake!”

Drake watched her chest heave, and nearly tasted the breath pushing past her lips. Biting back a hiss, Drake’s feet lurched forward of their own accord. He stopped himself before he crashed into her. She eyed his lips with dark hunger, and for a sliver of a moment, Drake thought she was going to kiss him.

“Just because Wilder Financial has the deed doesn’t mean I bought your bar,” Drake forced out in a single, tight breath. “It means my corporation bought it.”

He could give it back to her. The thought streamed through his head like a jetliner, and was gone as quickly as it had come. The entire area was in an economic downward spiral. If he gave the bar back to her, it wouldn’t be long before the Knight Owl went bankrupt along with the rest of the small businesses in the area. At least if Wilder’s City Beautification team got their teeth into it, there could be a chance to bring more business to the area, and to her bar.

Looking at the numbers—which is what Drake did best—there was only one way Emelia’s bar was going to survive. Wilder Financial had to keep ownership of it.

“You are an expert at dodging things, aren’t you?” Emelia fired. “You dodge e-mails, phone calls, and probably relationships, too, which would explain why you were in the cellar the night of the party instead of upstairs with everyone else. It doesn’t matter anyway, because you didn’t buy shit, not really.”

“If you leave it alone, and let my company keep ownership, I think you’ll find it’ll help business. We have the backing to improve the building and the surrounding area. We could build the Knight Owl into twenty Knight Owls spread across the city. It could be better for everyone this way.”

“You’ve never sweated and slaved for a piece of something that everyone else saw as worthless, have you? It’s not about making buckets of cash or making the Knight Owl into a chain, it’s about having something that’s mine, something I clawed for, tooth and nail.”

Damn, he admired her tenacity, but she wasn’t getting it. Given the circumstances, the best option was for Wilder Financial to hold the deed. It was the better move, even if she didn’t think it.

“I think you have to sue Tattoo Parlor Guy to get your money back.” Drake could smell the sugar from Emelia’s morning coffee on her breath—two sugars, one hazelnut cream. She’d taste just as sweet without the additives, Drake knew firsthand. “The deed to the Porter Street property that you have in your possession is fake, docu-edited, and worthless. Wilder Financial will hold the true deed in good hands until you’re in a better position to make an offer.”

There. He did it. Laid all the facts on the table.

“I have the deed to my building back at my bar, and believe me, it’s legit.” Disdain darkened Emelia’s eyes to deep-sea blue. She swayed against him as if the ground beneath her feet wobbled, then pulled back. “If you want me to drive across town and get it, just so you can see that it’s the real deal, I can.”

Somehow, the energy crackling between them flipped on a dime. Anger turned to something fiercely sexual, a hunger that clawed its way through him. As the temperature elevated from heated to scorching, Emelia swayed into him once more, nearly pressing against his chest. Drake fought the urge to kiss her, to taste the fire of her words and feel the spark on her skin. If Drake didn’t release some tension soon—either by kissing her or kicking her out of the building—he was liable to spontaneously combust.

Drake didn’t want Emelia to move a single inch, let alone drive across town to retrieve her fake deed. He wanted her to stay right where she was, a breath away from him, lips pouting in annoyance, cheeks flushing in anger. He wanted to piss her off and bottle the outpouring of emotion. She was different from him in every way—passionate where Drake was levelheaded, soft and curvy where he was achingly hard.

The wolf inside Drake shivered and shook, trembling with deep-rooted desire. It demanded to bond with Emelia, to claim what was rightfully his.

Mine.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Emelia’s plump lips quirked.

“Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me.”

Ah, hell.

Now all Drake could think about was how the most intimate part of her body would taste. He went rock hard at the thought of sliding his fingers through her rich cream, then suckling them into his mouth. Drake could sense excitement spreading through Emelia like a blush, as if the shudder rushing through her were his own. He could almost feel her hot, velvety center on his tongue. Impulses to rip the clothes from her body and bend her over the desk shot like liquid fire through his veins.

One kiss would quench the fire burning inside him. They wouldn’t sleep together—he wouldn’t let it get that far. At least not until she knew what he was, and what place she could have in his world. But he couldn’t stand here, enveloped in Emelia’s scent, drunk on the sight of her lips and the smoldering behind her eyes, without sampling a sliver of the forbidden fruit.

One taste wouldn’t hurt anything.

“You’re not Little Red anymore,” Drake said, his voice scratchy and deep, sounding strange to his own ears. “I’ll only eat you if you ask me to.”

Emelia gasped, her sapphire eyes blazing with dark desire. It was all the invitation he needed. He yanked her into his arms and branded a kiss on her mouth. The primal instincts bubbling inside him caught fire from the impact as his tongue darted past her lips and explored the warm, wet recesses of her mouth. He drank her in, sucking the sweetness from her lips.

“Emelia,” he whispered, savoring the chills gathering at the base of his spine. “You’re going to drive me crazy.”

She smiled and nipped at his bottom lip. “About time.”

She crashed into him then, from lips to hips. Looping her arms around his neck, Emelia dug her fingers through Drake’s hair and deepened the kiss, pressing her breasts against his chest until their bodies couldn’t be any closer without joining as one.

Hard rods of lust speared through Drake’s gut, shattering his intentions and sense of duty. He needed to tell her that he was a werewolf, an Alpha, before she got too deeply involved. She should know what could happen if they slept together. But none of that mattered. Not in this moment. Barbs of pure white heat crackled through every vein, throbbed through every muscle, and drew his erection painfully tight.

He hadn’t imagined the spark behind Emelia’s kiss in the cellar, though he tried to convince himself he had. Emelia was a tidal wave of scorching heat, her mouth a heaven that Drake explored with generous sweeps of his tongue.

He needed 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.