Mastered

  working a shit job, struggling to make ends meet. He understood pride. All his brothers did. He—and they—respected it. But Drake would be one mean, pissed-off son of a bitch if he knew Evangeline had forked out money she so obviously needed to buy Drake food.

  He grabbed the bags, refusing Evangeline’s offer to help carry them, and headed to the entrance.

  “Hardheaded too,” she muttered. “All these damn rules.”

  At the car the driver was there to take the bags from Justice, and Justice turned to her, looking at her in obvious question.

  “What are you talking about?”

  She blushed as if she’d been caught out. Evidently she hadn’t intended him to hear what she’d said.

  “I was just adding another requirement to work at Impulse,” she said.

  One eyebrow went up. “Oh? What requirements are you referring to?”

  “Obviously you have to be hot and a badass to work at Impulse. I mean, there’s not a single person working there who isn’t beautiful or a total badass. And just now I realized that there’s obviously one more requirement. Hardheadedness.”

  Justice threw back his head and laughed. He was still chuckling when he escorted Evangeline around the car so she could get in. He was shaking his head as he slid in next to her.

  “Well, there went one of the so-called rules,” she muttered.

  “Do I even want to know?” he asked.

  “I left out never smiling as a requirement along with being a hot, hardheaded badass, but you just blew that rule, so I guess it’s okay to smile occasionally.”

  He chuckled and shook his head.

  “Now can we go back to the apartment?” he asked in exasperation.

  She sent him a disgruntled look. “If I had time, I’d make you shop for another few hours. Just to watch you suffer.”

  He tried to choke back his laughter, but it escaped. He liked this woman, and he respected the hell out of her for remaining cool under pressure. It hadn’t escaped him that the day had been an exercise in hell for her. Nor the fact that she was mortified that someone else was paying for her things.

  “You’ll do, Evangeline,” he said affectionately. “You’ll do.”

  “Well, thank God for that,” she grumbled. “I’d hate to get on the bad side of a hardheaded hot badass.”

  He chuckled again and directed the driver to take them to Drake’s apartment. As soon as he issued the order, the lighthearted mood was over and Evangeline became quiet and brooding. And rigid as hell. The entire ride to Drake’s apartment, she looked like someone going to her execution.

  Drake’s car pulled into the alleyway of his apartment building, adjacent to the side entrance, and he quickly got out and strode inside. As he rode the elevator up, he loosened the neck of his buttoned-up shirt and divested himself of his suit coat, throwing it over one arm.

  He realized he was restless. He’d been that way all day since leaving Evangeline in his bed this morning. There was an edginess to him that defied explanation. An urge to cement his relationship with Evangeline and outline his expectations so there would be no question of his intentions.

  Tonight he would have her. But first, they’d have the discussion that had been brewing in his mind all day, followed by a casual, relaxed dinner, which would give her time to digest all he would say to her. And then he would take her, possess her. He would show her to whom she belonged now.

  Fierce satisfaction gripped him, and he realized he hadn’t anticipated the company of a woman so much in his life. For that matter, for the first time ever, he wasn’t already deciding how long his affair would last. He never began an affair without knowing when it would end, and yet he hadn’t even considered anything beyond securing Evangeline and making sure she didn’t go anywhere for a damn long time.

  Hell, was he contemplating an actual relationship as opposed to a quick fuck or a fling? Maybe he was losing his goddamn mind. He was certain his men thought so. And maybe he was, because his world had tilted on its axis the moment he’d seen Evangeline walk into his club, and nothing had been the same since.

  When the elevator opened, he stepped into his apartment and immediately swung his head toward the kitchen, frowning. A delicious aroma wafted through his nostrils. He checked his watch, certain he wasn’t mistaken on the time. He’d left his office so he would arrive sharply at six, as he’d informed Justice. Surely the delivery service wouldn’t have made such a mistake and delivered the food before the requested time.

  He had the entire evening meticulously planned, and he didn’t like interruptions or unexpected twists.

  He tossed his suit coat over the coat hanger by the elevator and walked into the kitchen only to pull up abruptly when he saw Evangeline at his stove manning four different skillets. He was a blunt man and not prone to putting much thought into how things were worded. Not when his words were sufficient to get results.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

  Evangeline jumped, nearly dropping the spatula she held. She turned her head in his direction, her eyes huge in her face as she gazed anxiously at him. Clear confusion was reflected in her vivid blue eyes, and then she cast him a puzzled look that suggested he was in error for asking what she was doing.

  “Justice told me you would be here at six, for me not to dress, and that we were having dinner in. I assumed that meant you wanted me to cook. He did say we were eating in,” she repeated, as though reassuring herself she hadn’t misunderstood what Justice had told her.

  There was a tremble to her voice and Drake sighed, realizing how it could well have been misconstrued on her part. The edge of fear and uncertainty in her eyes made his response instinctively gentle. He didn’t want to start the evening out on a bad note. Not when so much was riding on it.

  “I have no intention of turning you into a domestic slave, nor do I expect you to cook for me. I have a delivery service that brings in the finest meals when I want to eat in. They come in, set the table, and quietly make an exit. I had a delivery scheduled for seven. I had planned for us to talk before we ate.”

  “Oh,” Evangeline murmured.

  She looked down at the meal she was preparing, color rising in her cheeks, embarrassment dulling her usually brilliant blue eyes. It was like a physical blow to his stomach and made him feel like the worst sort of ass for being so blunt and making his statement sound like a reprimand. As though she had done something wrong. When actually, the fact that she had prepared a home-cooked meal for him touched him absurdly. His own mother, what he could remember of the bitch, certainly hadn’t ever cooked him anything.

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a hushed whisper. “I can throw it out. I misunderstood. I’m sorry,” she said again.

  He felt like he’d just kicked a puppy, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience. He in no way wanted to hurt her feelings when she’d obviously gone to great effort to prepare what appeared to be a sumptuous dinner.

  “Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “It smells delicious, and good food should never go to waste. I’ll just call the delivery service and cancel our order. How long before dinner will be ready?”

  She still wouldn’t meet his gaze, and she picked up a large spoon and stirred the ingredients in one of the pans.

  “It’s ready now. I was just keeping it warm so I could serve it as soon as you got here,” she said softly.

  He realized their talk was going to have to wait until after dinner, but he wasn’t about to start out by hurting Evangeline’s feelings and give her reason to erect a wall between them. No matter if it tasted like shit, he’d eat it and compliment her on it because he wouldn’t humiliate her in any way.

  And he reminded himself again that she’d cooked for him. It was a simple thing, but no woman had ever offered to cook for him, much less made the effort to have dinner ready as soon as he walked in the door from work.

  He walked over to where she stood and slid his arms around her body, molding her back to his chest. He leaned d
own and brushed his lips over the bare expanse of her neck, smiling when he elicited a shiver from her.

  “If it tastes even half as good as it smells, then it will be excellent.”

  She relaxed against him, the tension escaping her body.

  “Why don’t you go change into something more comfortable and I’ll get dinner on the table,” she said in a shy voice.

  He kissed her neck one more time, this time nibbling at the silky skin before disengaging himself from her and heading to his bedroom. Okay, so the talk would have to come after dinner, but the fact that she’d cooked for him said something. She wasn’t fighting, and apparently she hadn’t had a change of heart.

  He’d fully expected Justice to call him and bitch and moan about playing babysitter today, but to his surprise, all Justice had said after he’d dropped Evangeline back at Drake’s apartment was, “You’ve got a good one, Drake. Don’t fuck it up.”

  He frowned. He’d already seen Maddox’s reaction to her, as well as Thane’s. And now Justice had evidently fallen victim to her charm as well. He wasn’t at all certain he liked the impact she was having on his men. She’d have them all eating out of her hand, and he had a suspicion that if Evangeline did get cold feet and bail, one or all three of the men would make a play for her.

  Like hell that was going to happen.

  After changing into a pair of comfortable jeans and a T-shirt, he returned to the kitchen to find Evangeline arranging the plates on the dining room table. When she heard him, she turned, a grimace on her lips.

  “I wasn’t certain of your preference in wine, so I bought red and white.”

  “I like both, so I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he said.

  She opened a bottle and poured two glasses, then stood nervously, watching him as if unsure what to do next.

  “Sit,” he said. “We don’t want the food to get cold.”

  He pulled back the chair for her and she slid into it, and then he took the one across from her so he could watch her and see into her eyes. He hadn’t even paid attention to what she’d been cooking, but now that he examined the artfully arranged plate before him, he realized she’d blackened a fish fillet with a sauce drizzled over it. There was a baked potato and two side dishes he didn’t recognize. But it looked—and smelled—good.

  The presentation was worthy of any restaurant he frequented. He was accustomed to fine dining, an indulgence he didn’t deny himself now that he had the means to do so. Growing up dirt-poor and always hungry had a way of carving a man’s soul. He’d made a vow on his mother’s grave when he was eleven years old that her life would not be his. That he would do and have more. And above all, he’d sworn he’d never be hungry again.

  While he was miserly with his fortune when it came to business matters, causing his partners to poke fun at his tight purse strings, he had no qualms about indulging in personal luxuries, fine dining being uppermost. So he knew a professional presentation when he saw one. And Evangeline’s dish looked every bit as skillful and masterful as those served in his favorite and most exclusive restaurants. It remained to be seen whether the taste matched the appearance, but so far he was impressed. His angel was full of surprises, it would seem. Suddenly he was eager to ferret out her secrets, what made her tick, what lay beneath the veil of sweet innocence and a shine that was impossible to go unnoticed by any living, breathing person within a hundred yards of her.

  She fiddled with her fork, peeking up at him from underneath her eyelashes. He dug into the fish and took a bite and then halted. He chewed and then quickly took another bite, not believing what he’d just experienced.

  Now motivated to taste the other offerings, he forked into the two unknown sides and then leaned back with a groan. She looked apprehensive, and he noticed she hadn’t taken a single bite of her own meal.

  “This is amazing, Evangeline. It tastes magnificent. You cooked this? Are you sure you haven’t pulled one over on me and ordered in?” he teased.

  Her face colored but her eyes shone with delight at his compliment, and she ducked her head self-consciously, then nodded.

  “I love to cook,” she said softly. Then she lifted her head so their gazes met and her cheeks went pink all over again. “I’m pretty good at it, actually. I did all the cooking when I lived back home, and I cook for my roommates to save money so we don’t eat out all the time. When I was young, I would go to the library and check out cookbooks and copy the recipes. We couldn’t afford cable or satellite television, so I couldn’t watch cooking channels, so I learned by trial and error. It’s amazing the wonderful-tasting meals you can make with inexpensive ingredients. The secret is in the seasoning. Eating out was a luxury we couldn’t afford. Not even fast food, and, well, when I got better at cooking, to be honest, I much preferred my own cooking over greasy takeout food.”

  He barely managed to stifle the frown forming. When had Evangeline ever had time to live her own life? To have a life of her own, for that matter? From the bits and pieces he’d been able to put together, she’d sacrificed everything for her family, even leaving home so she could make more money, but lived in squalor in order to support her parents. And he still had no idea why her parents couldn’t do for themselves. She’d told him her father had been injured on the job and workman’s comp found a way out of paying, but what was the mother’s story? It made him angry that a beautiful young girl on the cusp of womanhood had put everything on hold to work herself to the bone, setting aside her own wants and desires for others. But then it also made her special. Head and shoulders above others for her sheer generosity and selflessness.

  “How old were you when you started teaching yourself to cook?” he asked, already knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.

  “Nine,” she said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “Mom helped as much as she could, but it was more important for her to be with Dad, so I took over the kitchen, and they pretended not to notice when smoke filled the kitchen and I ran through the house opening all the doors and windows,” she finished with a laugh.

  But Drake wasn’t laughing. He was furious. Nine. She’d been nine years old when she’d assumed the role of primary caregiver for her adult parents. He had to put his hands down below the table so she didn’t see the tight fists that formed. And her attitude said it all. She didn’t see anything abnormal about a mere child being forced into adulthood and taking on a mountain of responsibility. Never having a childhood. Much like himself, though their circumstances were vastly different. She, at least, had food to eat and she hadn’t voiced a single complaint about the way her parents treated her. In fact, every time she spoke of her family, her face softened and her eyes went warm with love.

  But it didn’t change the fact that she’d been cheated of things most children took for granted. Did she ever plan to live her own life? To do something solely for herself?

  Hell yes. He would see to that. He couldn’t change the past for either of them, but he could damn sure change Evangeline’s future, and her days of putting her own needs aside for the people she loved were over. He couldn’t make her many promises, but he could at least make her that one. Never again would she be in servitude, willingly or not, to others.

  They continued to eat in silence as he pondered the puzzle that was Evangeline Hawthorn. And more and more, he came to the realization that she was unlike any other woman he’d ever known, and he wasn’t sure what to do with that. Or with her. He was finding himself in a predicament he’d never before experienced.

  He handled all the women he’d taken up with, no matter how short of a time it was, with practiced ease. Never missing a step. He performed by rote and his efforts were greatly appreciated and met with delight.

  For the first time in his life, he felt doubt over how to handle a woman. The irony wasn’t lost on him. It was obvious that he couldn’t employ the usual strategy with Evangeline because she wasn’t like any of his past women. It might have annoyed another man, but it filled Drake wi
th an eagerness he hadn’t ever felt.

  She was perhaps going to be his greatest challenge, and he thrived on challenges. He would have to figure out just how to handle her. What pleased her. Because the last thing he wanted to do was insult her or damage her pride. And pride was something she had in abundance. He admired and respected that because he understood pride all too well.

  His thoughts drifted to his earlier acknowledgment that he hadn’t already set a time limit on his relationship—yes, relationship, a word he’d never before used when referring to time he spent with a woman—with Evangeline. Because one thing he knew for sure. It would take more than a few days, weeks or even months to fully learn everything there was to know about his angel. And he looked forward to every moment.

  Realizing his plate was completely cleaned, he leaned back in his chair and settled his gaze on what was his.

  “That was wonderful, Evangeline. You were wrong when you said you were pretty good at cooking, though.”

  Her eyes widened, but before she could draw the wrong conclusion, he continued.

  “You’re an amazing cook. I’ve eaten in more five-star restaurants than I can count, and that was the best meal I’ve ever eaten. And the fact that you made it for me only makes it more special. Thank you.”

  She blushed furiously, but her eyes shone with happiness at his compliment. Her entire face lit up and he was momentarily robbed of breath at how radiant she looked. Good God, how had the woman gotten to the age of twenty-three before losing her virginity to an asshole? Men had to have been trying to get into her pants since she was a teenager.

  But then he already had his answer to that question. Men hadn’t figured into Evangeline’s plans or goals. She’d been too busy taking care of her family and working all hours of the day to entertain thoughts of a relationship.

  He frowned to himself as he also remembered one very important reason Evangeline wasn’t experienced. She had no clue how beautiful she was. She thought she was nothing and nobody.

  If it was the last thing he did, he was going to damn well make her see herself the way he—and the rest of the world—did.

  “There’s dessert too,” she said. “No good meal ends without dessert. I only had time to whip up something simple given time constraints, but you have your choice of homemade chocolate mousse with whipped cream topping or cupcakes.”

  “Both,” he said without a single moment of hesitation, prompting her to laugh.

  “Somehow I didn’t see you as a cupcake person,” she said with amusement.

  “If it’s got sugar, I like it.”

  “Wait until you try my caramel Heath Bar pie,” she said in a dreamy voice. “It’s sinful.”

  “I can’t wait,” he said in a husky voice that suggested there were other things he couldn’t wait for as well.

  She smiled and hurried away, returning with an elegant sterling silver tray bearing two cupcakes and two artfully prepared crystal serving dishes of the chocolate mousse. He eyed both, knowing that if dessert lived up to dinner, he was going to be groaning afterward.

  He was not disappointed.

  “You’re already spoiling me,” he said as he slid the dishes away and took his dinner napkin to dab at the crumbs that were no doubt clinging to his mouth.

  “Certainly not as much as you are me,” she said pointedly.

  “Good.”

  Evangeline rose, a smile still shining on her lips, and began collecting the empty plates. Drake frowned and then wrapped his fingers around her wrist, effectively halting her.

  “Leave them,” he said. “The cleaning lady will be in tomorrow morning. That’s what I pay her to do. You and I have things to discuss.”

  Her instant look of uncertainty made his chest tighten to the point of discomfort. He purposely dropped her wrist and then rose and held out his hand to hers, waiting for her to make the choice of whether to take his hand. He was shocked over his actions. He never allowed others to dictate matters. Or allowed someone else to take the initiative. He was a take-charge man. Ruthless even. And yet here he waited for one small woman to trust him enough to decide to take his hand.

  But when her silky soft fingers slid trustingly into his, he was suddenly glad he had waited and not taken the choice from her. Somehow it meant so much more that she’d come to him willingly, no longer any hint of apprehension in her eyes.

  He guided her into the living room and settled her on the couch. Suddenly remembering the small box in his pants pocket, he reached for it, still holding on to her hand with his other. He held it out to her wordlessly. He wasn’t a mushy, sentimental guy by any stretch and he always let the gifts do their own talking. It had always worked for him in the past.

  But she stared at the wrapped package in stupefaction and then lifted her surprised gaze to his.

  “Drake, what is this?”

  The corners of his mouth quirked into a half smile.

  “Open it and find out. Isn’t that what one usually does?”

  Instead of tearing into it, as most women of his acquaintance tended to do, she stared at it in awe, touching the ribbon and the colored paper reverently. Jesus, had no one ever given her a gift before? No, he didn’t want to know the answer to that. It would only piss him off more.

  “I’m afraid to ruin it,” she said huskily. “It’s too pretty.”

  She was threatening to turn him into knots and he hadn’t even cemented that she was his and his alone yet. What this said about the future, he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t entirely certain he liked it.

  But he smiled indulgently, feeling something remarkably like relaxation settling into his chest. His cell was turned off—something he never did. And all his men had strict instructions, under threat of dismemberment this time, that he was not to be disturbed as he’d been last night. By God, he’d have things between him and Evangeline settled tonight come hell or high water.

  Tentatively she began to unwrap it, careful not to make a single tear in the paper. She slid her fingernail under the tape and lifted until she was able to free the box with the paper completely intact. She fingered the ribbon a moment as if savoring the satiny texture, much as he had savored the same satiny feel of her skin.

  With the box now sitting on her lap, she stared at it as if she had no idea what to do next. He could see her sudden inhale and the fact that she didn’t immediately exhale.

  “Open it, Angel,” he said in a husky voice he didn’t recognize.

  Her fingers trembling, she slipped the lid off and bit her lip in consternation when she found yet another box, this one a velvet jeweler’s box inside the other. She turned it over and gently shook until the velvet box fell