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by Maya Banks
Her vision blurred and she knew she couldn’t possibly hold on a minute longer. She was too close. Too aroused. She needed him too much.
“Drake!” she cried out. “Please. Don’t stop. Not now!”
“No, Angel. Never,” he vowed.
He drove himself forward, melting into her body as she wrapped arms and legs tightly around him. She melted into his arms, her body soft and pliable, so accepting of him.
The first blast of her orgasm rocked her to her very core. She had no awareness in those few moments as pleasure, sharp, edgy like a knife, sliced its wicked way through her body, all the way to her very soul.
Her eyes blanked, the pupils constricting. She tried to focus on Drake’s fierce expression, the possession she saw so clearly outlined on his face, but it was simply too much.
Every muscle and nerve ending in her body tensed to the point of pain. She drew herself up in agony, trying to clutch more fiercely at Drake. She was sobbing. She dimly registered the fact that she was sobbing and begging and pleading.
And then his mouth found hers and he swallowed up her loud cry as she let it out into the night.
The entire world around her burst, exploded into a cacophony of color and sensation. So much pleasure. It winged its way through her body, foaming thickly through her veins, bathing every inch of her skin.
She couldn’t breathe, so Drake breathed for her. He swallowed up her air and then offered her his. Nothing had ever felt so intimate and sweet. Never had she felt this kind of love for any other man. She never would.
What would she have ever done if she’d never met Drake? How hollow would her life be even now if he weren’t a part of it? She closed her eyes tightly, felt the hot tears slide down her cheek, and she gulped back her sob as she clung tightly to him in the explosive aftermath.
He lowered his heaving body to hers, panting as he struggled to catch his breath. He buried his face in her hair and gathered her so close in his arms that there wasn’t an inch of her skin not covered by him.
“Never had anything so sweet in my life,” he barely managed to get out. “Never will again. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had, Angel. Don’t ever leave me. Please don’t leave me.”
She was shocked by the vulnerability she heard in his voice. Shocked that he’d allowed her to witness it. Or perhaps he had no idea what he was saying. But his words, his impassioned plea, rocked her all the way to her heart and soul.
“I won’t,” she said tenderly. “Never, Drake, darling. I’ll always be here. As long as you want me, I am yours.”
He crushed her to him, holding her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. “I need you, Angel. I need you so damn much.”
His words were so hushed that she thought she’d imagined them at first. A euphoric thrill washed through her blood, and peace settled over her. Maybe . . . just maybe fairy tales did come true.
21
Evangeline lay in Drake’s arms, so contented that she was utterly boneless with it. She was draped completely over his body, lying atop him, their legs tangled with the sheets and blankets.
She’d attempted to move once, but Drake’s hold had tightened on her and he’d simply murmured, “I like you right where you are, Angel.”
Evangeline idly caressed him, running her fingers lightly over the muscled contours of his body and through the smattering of hair at the top of his chest and the slightly thicker and darker line that whorled in the very center before drifting in a straight line to his navel.
The man was a god. A magnificent sexy beast of a man that no other man she’d ever seen could even come close to. And he was all hers.
She smiled her smug satisfaction and lay there a long moment savoring the intimacy of their hold.
And then thoughts from the holiday drifted through her mind and she remembered Drake’s stiff response to her mother saying how proud his parents must be of him. And his awed thank-you for the best holiday anyone had ever given him. He’d said that no one had ever cooked a holiday meal for him. For that matter, that very first time she’d cooked for him, he’d said, somewhat bewilderingly, that no one had ever cooked anything for him.
Surely he meant as an adult. Wouldn’t his mother have cooked for him when he was a child?
Icy fingers of dread clutched at her heart because somehow she sensed that Drake’s childhood had not been a happy one. For that matter, the common tie that seemed to bind all of his men together as brothers was less-than-ideal pasts. None of them had actually spoken of their pasts, but then neither had they ever once mentioned having families. No references to their childhoods. Nothing.
She levered herself off his chest enough that she could look into his eyes, and she did so earnestly, searching his gaze for any sign that perhaps she should let this go or at least bring it up some other time.
When she saw nothing but warmth and tenderness, she nibbled at her lower lip and then hesitantly broached the subject on her mind.
“Drake? Can I ask you something?” she asked tentatively.
His eyes narrowed but he didn’t look angry. Just . . . worried. “Of course. What is it, Angel?”
“I wanted to ask you about . . . well . . . you. Your past,” she said nervously.
His lips flattened into a thin line and his eyes became glacial. She wasn’t sure he even realized the change in his features because it appeared he was making an effort not to become angry or irritated at her inquiry.
“What about it?” he asked in a flat tone.
She sighed and sat up, positioning her body to the side of him so she could look at him and monitor his reactions.
“You never talk about it. Your childhood. Your parents. You were obviously not comfortable when my mother brought up your parents. And I realize this may not be something you want to discuss, Drake. If it isn’t, then I’ll drop it. But I feel like it still has power over you in some way. That it . . . hurts you still. And I would do anything to stop you from hurting,” she whispered.
“Nothing good can come from rehashing the past,” he said grimly. “It’s just that. The past. It happened a long time ago and doesn’t affect us.”
She shook her head in denial. “You’re wrong,” she said softly. She leaned down and hugged him fiercely to her. “It does affect you still, and anything that affects you affects me. And us.”
He sighed and she felt the tension whipping and coiling in his body. He was tense beneath her touch, but then he relaxed and wrapped his arms around her as he sat up in bed, pulling her to his chest.
“What do you want to know?” he asked with obvious discomfort.
“Only what you’re willing to share,” she replied honestly. “I will never demand more than what you’re willing to give.”
He sighed again and was silent for a long second. “My parents weren’t exactly poster people for parent-of-the-year awards. Nothing like yours,” he said, and she wondered if he even heard the wistful note in his voice. It made her want to hug him all over again.
“They were scammers. Into drugs. Easy money. Whatever they had to do so that they didn’t have to work. A child was the very last thing either of them wanted, and in fact my mother wanted to abort me, but my father realized that I would be a meal ticket of sorts for them. Food stamps. A check from the state every month. And all they had to do was keep me and ensure I remained alive. My happiness and comfort weren’t on their list of priorities.”
Bleakness entered his faraway expression, but he quickly schooled his features as if determined to give them no more power over him than they’d already once had.
“Oh, Drake,” she said, her lips turning down into a sad smile.
He smiled at her then and pulled her down so he could kiss her temple. “You’re far too softhearted, my angel. I survived.”
“But what did you survive?” she asked pointedly. “No one should have to survive their childhood.”
“No, but many do,” he said gently.
“How bad was it, Drake?” she as
ked in an anxious voice.
He swallowed. “It was bad,” he admitted. “I was just a child who didn’t understand why my parents hated me or why they tolerated me, for that matter. I used to pray that the state would come on an unscheduled visit and remove me from their home. I tried running away more than once. Each time, my father found me, beat me into a bloody pulp, dragged me back home and locked me in a closet for days at a time.”
She emitted a shocked gasp, her eyes round with horror. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle her agonized cry.
Drake shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad. I preferred being in the closet over being in their way. If they were running low on drugs or food, it got really bad. Withdrawal would hit and they’d lash out at the source of their unhappiness. Me. So I learned to blend in, to be very quiet and to stay in the shadows. Ironically it was probably my father who kept me alive. My mother, as I said, would have preferred to abort me, and she developed quite a nasty narcotic pain pill habit as a result of her emergency C-section when she had me. My father reminded her at every turn that if they got rid of the ‘little beast,’ as she liked to call me, she’d have to find a job to support her addiction.”
Evangeline was too overwhelmed to give voice to any of the million thoughts screaming in her head. She was too horrified and appalled by how pathetic humanity was. He’d been just a child. Someone who hadn’t asked to be born. Her hands were shaking and she lowered them to hide them at Drake’s side, clenching her fingers together so her trembling didn’t give her away.
“There’s little point in rehashing my entire childhood,” he said in a gentle voice. As though he were protecting her from the awfulness of his past. For that alone, she wanted to weep. Because when had he ever had anyone to protect him?
“What happened to them? How did you finally escape?”
He grimaced. “My old man was shot by a drug dealer he owed a shit-ton of money to. Again, he wasn’t parent or husband of the year, but he did at least try to look out for me. When he wasn’t beating the hell out of me,” he added dryly. “And he tried to look out for my mother the only way he knew how. By keeping her supplied with her candy of choice. The result was him running up a tab he had no hope of repaying, and they came to collect one night when I was locked in the closet. Again, the closet likely saved my life because if they’d known I was there, they would have either killed me to make their point or taken me, not knowing my parents didn’t give a shit about me and wouldn’t have done a damn thing to get me back.”
“What about your mother?” she whispered.
It made her vaguely ill, but in this moment, she hoped the woman died a long, painful death.
“They quickly figured out the best way to make her suffer was by not killing her and ending her pathetic excuse of a life. With my old man out of the way, she had no help, no support, and she was in agony with withdrawal. They laughed at her and told her to enjoy cold turkey.”
Drake reached for one of her hands and pried it away from the other before lacing his fingers in hers.
“Two days later, she killed herself, and I remember standing over her grave and vowing that her life wouldn’t be mine. Would never be mine. I wanted better. I was eleven years old and small for my age because of malnourishment and abuse. But I was already planning my future. One doesn’t grow up with drug dealers and gangs without being somewhat street smart and knowing what it takes to survive.”
“No one took you in after your mother died?” Evangeline asked in bewilderment.
Drake shrugged. “Someone probably would have. At the very least I would have been placed in the system and shuffled from home to home until I turned eighteen. But that wasn’t an option for me. At eleven years old, all I could think was that if my own parents couldn’t love me, then how could anyone else?”
She could no longer prevent the tears from leaking down her cheeks. She stared at him, her vision blurry with moisture, and then she launched herself at him, throwing her arms around him, pulling him close to her and the erratic beat of her heart.
“I love you, Drake Donovan,” she whispered fiercely. “I’ll always love you. You never have to be alone again and you’ll never be without someone who loves you.”
He looked shocked, like it was the very last thing he’d expected her to say. She hadn’t meant to say it like that. Not now. Not yet. But there was never a better time and she could not allow him to go any longer without knowing she loved him and would do anything for him. No sacrifice was too great.
“Angel,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I—I don’t even know what to say. You have no idea how precious a gift this is. I don’t deserve it,” he said in a shaken tone.
She put her finger to his lips, her expression fierce. “Do not,” she commanded. “Do not ever tell me you don’t deserve it. As for not knowing what to say, you don’t have to say anything at all. You only have to listen. I love you, Drake. Completely, unconditionally, without measure.”
He crushed her to him, burying his face in her hair. His entire body shook with the force of his emotion and she simply held him, stroking his back and shoulders, all the while whispering her love for him in his ear.
22
For once, Evangeline was looking forward to a shopping trip. She’d been a little disappointed that Maddox or Silas wasn’t free to take her. She’d grown to rely on the two men and their steady companionship. She was admittedly closer to them than any of Drake’s other men, but all of them were warm and friendly with her at all times.
But even knowing Maddox and Silas were busy, her enthusiasm couldn’t be dimmed. She was going shopping for Drake’s Christmas present. She’d pulled out the cash and the credit cards Silas had delivered to her seemingly a lifetime ago, and she grinned, not feeling any remorse for using Drake’s money to buy his gift with.
Today was going to be . . . fun.
“Yo, Evangeline, you here?” Zander called from the foyer.
She stuffed the money and credit cards in her purse and hurried out to greet him, a welcoming smile on her face. Her eyes widened when she saw two of Drake’s other men accompanying Zander. Thane and . . . Damn it. She couldn’t remember the other guy’s name and it would seem so rude if she couldn’t figure out a way around him knowing that little fact.
She remembered him, of course. He was quieter than the others but very sweet and considerate toward her. It reminded her of Hartley’s name. Damn it!
“Hey, love,” Zander boomed out, hugging her and smacking her noisily on the cheek.
“Hey, Zander,” she said warmly. Then she turned. “Hello, Thane.” Then she looked at the third man and, thank God, his name popped into her head at the right time. “Hatcher. How are you?”
The other man seemed surprised by her address, but then perhaps he’d assumed she wouldn’t remember him since they hadn’t spent that much time together. He looked delighted, however, and smiled broadly back at her.
“Hello, Evangeline. You ready to go shopping today?” Hatcher said, offering her his arm as they headed toward the elevator.
“Yes, I am, and I desperately need y’all’s help.”
Thane chuckled, causing Evangeline to swing her gaze in his direction. “What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Nothing, darlin’. I just get tickled when I hear your adorable Southern accent and how you say ‘y’all,’” he said with a grin.
Her mouth popped open. “Like you have room to talk! Aren’t we supposed to be on each other’s sides as Southern folk trapped together in the big bad city?”
Hatcher and Zander joined in the laughter while Thane held up his arm in a signal of peace.
“Now, darlin’, you know I don’t mean anything by it. I have to admit, you make me homesick every time I listen to you talk.”
His voice dropped an octave and for a moment she truly believed he did get homesick. There was a look in his eyes that made her feel sad.
“That Thanksgiving dinner you cooked reminded me of my mama’s cooking,” Th
ane went on to explain. “Best damn meal I’ve had since I left home all those years ago.”
“Then clearly I need to invite you over to dinner more often,” Evangeline said firmly. “Southern food is a must and can’t be forgotten once tasted. That’s a sin in anyone’s Bible, I’m sure.”
Zander shot Thane a black look and then shook his head in Hatcher’s direction. “Can you believe Mr. Slick here and how he just managed to finagle regular dinner invitations without so much as breaking a sweat?”
Evangeline notched her chin up in the air and then slid her arm underneath Thane’s. “Y’all would do well to take pointers from a true Southern gentleman,” she said with a sniff. “They know what’s important to a woman’s heart.”
“And a Southern lady knows what’s important to a Southern man’s stomach,” Thane said, his eyes twinkling. “It’s why all the best Southern ladies know how to cook. They do know how to take care of their man,” he said wistfully.
Hatcher and Zander both rolled their eyes in disgust, but Thane eyed them slyly.
“Roll your eyes now. Just wait until I’m having dinner with Evangeline and eating her amazing cooking and you two are out eating tacos or that other takeout shit y’all consume on a regular basis.”
“Tell me, Thane. Where are you from exactly?” Evangeline asked as he handed her into the waiting car.
“M-I-crooked-letter-crooked-letter-I-crooked-letter-crooked-letter-I . . .”
“Humpback-humpback-I,” she finished breathlessly, her eyes sparkling with fun.
“What the hell kind of foreign language are you two spouting now?” Zander grumbled.
“He’s from Mississippi,” Evangeline replied, still grinning. “Just like I am!”
“And you were able to tell that from him chanting about eyes and crooked letters?”
Zander’s expression was baffled, and he looked at them as though they’d both lost their minds. She and Thane both burst into laughter.
“What part of the state are you from, Thane?” Evangeline asked. “I’m from the south. A very small town about thirty miles north of the coast.”