Mastered, Page 23

  “You are a priceless treasure, Evangeline,” he said, his eyes still gleaming with amusement. “And I pity the fool who ever tries to mess with someone you care about. You may look like a kitten and an innocent angel, but underneath you’re a ferocious lioness with deadly teeth and claws.”

  Still chuckling, he reached for her phone. “Give me the names and numbers of the contacts you want me to enter before you start planning assault and God only knows what else and then Drake and I will have to bail you out of jail.”

  She grinned, absurdly pleased with herself for being able to draw Silas out of his shell. And, well, she hadn’t lied. She liked Silas. There was something about him that reminded her of Drake. And she strongly suspected that Silas had endured a very hard life dating back to his childhood, and her heart ached for the boy he’d once been. Affection, someone standing up for him, someone liking him seemed such alien concepts to him, as though he’d never experienced any of it. And that pissed her off.

  She gave him her parents’ names and number first and then provided him with Steph’s, Lana’s and Nikki’s cell numbers as well as the landline number in their apartment.

  “That all?” Silas asked when she fell silent.

  She nodded, a little self-conscious. “I don’t know many people in the city, and Steph, Lana and Nikki are my only friends. I didn’t exactly have much time to get out and meet people or make other friends because I worked as many hours as I could.”

  She wished she’d just kept her big mouth shut because the smile was gone from both Silas’s eyes and his mouth. His lips tightened and he looked pissed.

  But to her surprise, he didn’t voice his obvious displeasure and instead reached across the island and took both her hands in his, squeezing them gently.

  “Well, now you have us. All of us. Warts and all. You belong to Drake, yes, but you also now belong to us all. Drake is the closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had, as are the others. And because you are his woman, our loyalty, protection and friendship now extend to you as well. You have friends now, Evangeline. Don’t ever think otherwise. Which is why I expect you to call on me if you have need of anything. If there is ever something I can do for you, it would upset me greatly if you didn’t feel as though you could reach out to me.”

  “Do not make me cry,” she said with mock ferocity. “Me crying is not a pretty sight. Some women have perfected the art of a tear or two and a delicate, feminine sniffle. I’m an ugly crier. My face gets all red, my eyes swell up and my nose runs like a faucet. Trust me, you do not want to see that.”

  Silas didn’t respond to her attempt at lighthearted humor in kind. His expression grew somber, and sadness chased across his eyes, gone almost before she even registered it.

  “I would hate for you to ever have reason to cry,” he said in a pained voice. “You deserve to be happy, Evangeline. And I hope to hell Drake moves heaven and earth to make you so. Because if he doesn’t, he’s a damn fool.”

  It was late in the evening, and even though Drake had clearly told her he didn’t know when he’d be home, she hadn’t expected him to be this late. At nine, she curled up on the couch, completely nude, because she wanted to wait up for him, no matter how late he came home, and though he hadn’t given her any instructions on how to be when he arrived or even that she was to wait up on him, she wanted him to come home to her. For him to know he mattered, that his needs mattered and that she wanted to please him. Wanted to see the warm approval in his eyes that she’d grown to crave so much that at times it frightened her.

  She wasn’t aware of what time she drifted off, only that when she sleepily opened her eyes, Drake was standing in front of the couch, his gaze burning over her naked skin.

  She immediately smiled, though she was still blinking away the vestiges of sleep from her eyes, and his face softened as he leaned down to kiss her long and so very sweet.

  “You didn’t have to wait up on me, Angel, but I’m very glad you did.”

  “I would never not wait up on you, Drake,” she said in a serious voice. “I wanted you to come home and for the first thing that you saw to be me, waiting for you. I’m only sorry I fell asleep.”

  He put a finger to her lips. “Shh, my darling. It’s nearly eleven. There is no need to apologize for falling asleep. I didn’t call this time because I worried I would wake you.”

  She pushed herself upward instead of remaining sprawled indelicately on the couch.

  “How was your day? It sounded as though you were busy and you look tired, Drake. You don’t get enough rest.”

  He smiled. “My angel worries about me and wants to take care of me. No one has ever taken care of me, or wanted to, for that matter.”

  His smile was faint, followed by a brief shadow of pain and . . . need. No matter that this man enjoyed taking care of her, it was obvious that he too needed that same care, whether or not he would ever admit to something he’d likely construe as a shortcoming in himself.

  He would just have to get over it because she had no intention of taking without reciprocating in any way she could. His happiness had become important to her, and she couldn’t even pinpoint when it had become so. But just as he pampered her, cherished her and lavished his loving care upon her, she would return the favor in full measure.

  She frowned. “You have someone now who wants to and will take care of you in every way I can. I want to make you happy, Drake, and not just because I cede power to you and submit to you. I intend to make you feel as loved as you make me feel.”

  He looked shaken by her straightforward statement, as if he had never come across such a situation before and wasn’t at all certain how to react. But his eyes said it all. They glowed with warm pleasure and contentment. He looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world—his world.

  He extended his hand to help her from the couch and pulled her up and against him so she was molded to his body. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her lingeringly, taking his time and tasting every inch of her mouth, inside and out.

  “I have something for you,” he said in a husky, passion-laced voice.

  The warm glow that had surrounded her, drowning her in the silent exchange between them and the look of wonder in his eyes, evaporated instantly. Dread and disappointment replaced her excitement over his coming home, and she immediately tensed.

  He frowned at her reaction but didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled a small box from his pocket and placed it into her hand.

  “Open it,” he said.

  Her fingers were trembling, something he might construe as excitement or anticipation, but it was neither. She didn’t want to open the damn box. It somehow cheapened what she considered a deep emotional bond established with the few words they’d exchanged and turned the entire evening into something else entirely.

  She didn’t want to see what was inside. All she wanted was him, for him to take her to bed so she could do exactly as she’d vowed and for once take care of him after a long day of work. Was that so hard for him to understand? Had no one ever wanted him, the man, Drake Donovan? And not what he possessed and the cavalier way he tossed trinkets her way on a daily basis?

  But she dutifully opened the box and discovered a necklace to match the huge earrings he’d given her already. The very thing she’d predicted, though at the time it had been a sarcastic thought. She hadn’t really thought he’d go that far. But she should have known better.

  She gasped when she caught a full view of the diamond necklace. It was huge. Bigger than both earrings put together! It was a teardrop diamond pendant the size of his thumb!

  Something inside her snapped and she lashed out, her disappointment too keen to hide.

  “This has to stop, Drake! Enough! Every day you give me some outrageously expensive gift, and today this makes the second. I don’t want your gifts. I want you. Can’t you understand that? Don’t you know me better than that by now?”

  Tears gathered in her eyes and she was shaking with anger and disappointment.

  “I don’t want them,” she raged. “I don’t even know what to do with the first couple you bought me. What on earth am I supposed to do with the rest?”

  Drake’s expression turned to one of fury, but she was too angry to recognize the line she’d just crossed.

  He swore violently and colorfully, turning away for a long moment, his back to her, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. Then he whirled back around, his eyes nearly black with rage.

  “Why the hell do you have to make such a fucking big deal out of everything I give you?” he snapped. “It’s not just the jewelry. You looked like you were on your way to death row when I bought you clothing. You’ve objected at every turn when I buy you anything, and you damn well knew the rules going in, so you can’t plead ignorance. Do you even consider how that makes me feel? It’s not just a rejection of a physical object. It’s a rejection of me and my desire to spoil and pamper you and make you feel like the very special woman you are.”

  She went soft to her very soul, and she’d never felt more ashamed of herself than in this moment. Oh God, she’d never even considered that he would consider it a rejection of him when all she wanted was him. Not diamonds, jewels, expensive clothing, credit cards and unlimited funds. She’d made a complete and utter mess of this, all because she’d let her insecurities get the better of her and couldn’t fathom why Drake had chosen her. He called her special, but she wasn’t! Except . . . he thought she was and she didn’t believe him. Which meant she’d shown him the utmost disrespect by not having faith in him. She was clearly telling him that she didn’t trust him, when nothing could be further from the truth.

  She went to him immediately, closing the distance between them and wrapping herself around his huge body, ignoring his rigidity and the fact that he didn’t return her embrace.

  “Oh, Drake, I’m so very sorry,” she said, her heart breaking into jagged, painful pieces that left her utterly bereft over hurting him. “I never meant to make you feel that way. You just don’t understand how hard it is for a girl like me . . .” She broke off and closed her eyes but not before Drake saw the fleeting hint of despair shining like a beacon.

  Despite Drake’s anger, he cupped her chin, caressing her cheek with his thumb, because something else was going on here and he’d jumped to what appeared to be very errant conclusions.

  “Angel, open your eyes and look at me,” he said in a firm voice.

  When she finally complied, he saw the tears that threatened to fall from her glossy eyes.

  “What the hell do you mean I don’t understand how hard it is for a girl like you? What kind of girl are you referring to?”

  She flushed and would have closed her eyes again but he gave a warning tap to her cheek with his thumb, commanding her attention.

  “I’ve never had anything,” she said in a low tone. “Except my parents’ love. My friends’ love. Their support. I’ve worked for everything else I’ve ever had, and granted it’s not much, but it’s mine. It was earned and I take a certain amount of pride in that. A girl like me has to work for what she gets because there aren’t a lot of men out there lining up for a boring, quiet, mousy girl who doesn’t need or want things. I just feel like you give me so much and I give you nothing in return.”

  She was becoming perilously close to those tears falling, and he could feel her distress radiating from her in waves.

  “The gifts are beautiful. Very precious to me. I love each and every one of them. I’m scared to death to wear the jewelry because what if I lose it? But at the same time, every gift is a reminder of how much you give to me and how little I give you in return.”

  Now she was openly crying, tears sliding silently down her cheeks and colliding with his thumbs.

  “All I’ve ever had to sustain me before was my sense of self-worth,” she said in a choked, emotion-filled voice. “You can’t put a price tag on self-worth. And right now, I don’t feel worth much at all and I hate that feeling. It’s a helpless feeling, and God, there’s nothing worse than feeling—being—helpless. You have so much pride, Drake. Surely you understand what I’m trying to say.”

  She was coming far too close to begging for his liking. The desperation in her voice seared him to the depths of his soul.

  Her impassioned outburst struck a chord deep within him. He marveled at the fact that in all the relationships or rather short acquaintances he’d entertained, never once had a woman taken issue with anything he chose to give her. In fact, there were many times the woman pouted ever so prettily that the earrings were beautiful but without a necklace to complement them the look just wasn’t as breathtaking.

  Never had he had a woman stand before him and speak of the one thing he was very well acquainted with. Pride. Self-worth. Of not accepting anything from anyone and earning every damn thing he possessed. And yet he’d reduced her to that by showering lavish gifts on her, as though he could buy her affection, her smile, her happiness when in fact, when he thought back on it, the brightest smiles he could remember seeing were when she saw him after a long day at work, how happy she seemed to be when he chose to stay in and allowed her to cook on the rare occasions they didn’t go out. Nothing he had bought her had come close to the kind of joy and contentment he’d seen in her eyes and on her face that simply being with him seemed to give her. Was she for real? It utterly bewildered him, and for the first time in his life, he had no idea how to handle a woman. This woman. And it made him feel helpless, like a first-class fuckup.

  “You’re wrong when you say you have nothing to give me,” he said gruffly, still grappling with revelations still swirling in his mind. “But I do understand, Angel. I understand only all too well.”

  Suddenly the distance between them was too much. Not just the physical distance but the emotional distance as well. He’d made so many mistakes with her. And even knowing she wasn’t like any other woman he’d ever met, he’d still treated her the same. Lavishing expensive gifts on her instead of providing the things that really mattered to her. Even knowing the priceless treasure he possessed and that she was unique and rare, he hadn’t made the effort to truly learn her.

  He held out his arms, holding his breath and hoping she didn’t refuse him. “Come here, Angel. I refuse to have this conversation when you look tired on your feet and all I want to do is hold you.”

  He exhaled a long sigh of relief when after only a slight hesitation, she walked into his arms. He wrapped them around her and for a long moment he simply held her, closing his eyes as he buried his face in her sweet-smelling hair.

  Then he maneuvered her to the sofa and sat, pulling her down into his lap, once more wrapping his arms tightly around her. Her slight frame nestled perfectly against his. As if she’d been made for him and only him. Two pieces of a puzzle.

  So fucking perfect. Soft, warm. So loving and generous. She was a shining light in the darkest recesses of his tarnished soul. A welcome-home gift—treasure—every time he walked through his door.

  “First I want to address the issue of equality and what you can contribute to make you feel as though you give me something in return for what I give you. Though, babe, if all you ever gave me were you, I’d spend the rest of my life trying to catch up, because nothing and I mean nothing I give you will ever be more precious than you giving yourself to me. You can’t put a price tag on something that is priceless and worth more than all the money in the world.”

  He felt her smile against his chest, and he caressed the length of her hair, resting his chin atop her head, marveling at the contentment he felt over such a simple act.

  “You’re an excellent cook and you said yourself you love cooking. At first, I didn’t like the idea of you cooking for me when I came home because as I told you that very first night, I never meant for you to be a domestic slave.”

  She leaned away from his chest so she could look at him, mischief in her eyes. “Just a sex slave,” she teased.

  He relaxed, relief surging through his veins because she was no longer tense, nor did she seem angry.

  He smacked her playfully on the behind but left his palm there, cupping the soft plumpness of her ass.

  “Damn right,” he said with no remorse whatsoever. “But I took something away from you that I shouldn’t have. I made you feel as though you contributed nothing to our relationship. You enjoyed cooking for me and you were happy that I loved your meal. Hell, I even loved those fucking cupcakes and you had every single one of my men eating out of your hand so they’d get one too. If someone had told me a month ago that the men who work for me would eagerly be lining up for a cupcake made by an angel, I would have laughed myself stupid.”

  She blushed but her eyes were shining in delight, the corners of her mouth tilted upward into that delectable quirky half smile that was so characteristic of her. Some might consider it a fault, but Drake found it endearing. Even now, he paused to drop his head and nibble at the corner of her mouth, running his tongue over that delicious little quirk. She shivered against him in response and his entire body tightened. So fucking responsive. He’d thought it, said it, too many times to count since she’d barged into his life, or, if he was honest, since he’d dragged her into his life.

  She lit up for him. Him. Only him. Hell, she’d been around his men, his brothers, all men most bitches couldn’t keep their hands off of, and yet Evangeline smiled at them, was affectionate with them all, much to their disgruntlement and bewilderment, but in no way could her actions or responses ever be construed as sensual. She wasn’t a flirt. She was too damn honest, not to mention too innocent to even know how. If she liked you, she was nice to you and she let you know she liked you. It was as simple as that. And apparently she’d decided that she liked all his brothers. Men would die to have a woman go up in flames the instant they looked at her in a certain way. Or touched her, kissed her, whispered the right words. He had such a woman right here on his lap and in his arms. In his bed every night, offering her complete submission as sweetly as a woman ever had, and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to fuck up and lose her.

  He nearly shook his head. Compromise. Not a word in his vocabulary. But when it came to Evangeline, he was fast learning new words and most certainly their definition.

  “I love your cooking,” he said. “Best fucking meals I’ve eaten in my life.”

  And they were. He might do a lot to keep a woman like Evangeline, but he wasn’t a liar. Not even to make her feel better or to appease her would he lie. She valued self-worth most of all. How hollow would that self-worth be if it was built on lies he’d told her?

  Her eyes glowed with pleasure, her entire face lit up with radiance to rival the sun, her cheeks growing rosier by the second. She looked at him as if he’d just saved her from a burning building, for fuck’s sake. It didn’t take much to please this woman at all, and here he’d been throwing tens of thousands of dollars at her when apparently all she truly wanted was . . . him.

  He couldn’t comprehend it, but the proof was here, looking him in the eyes. She wanted Drake Donovan the man. Not the wealth, power, status or prestige of being on his arm and under his protection.

  His money appalled her. The gifts he gave her horrified her. Silas had informed him that she was less than thrilled to accept the cash and credit cards he’d sent over. She’d been more excited over the fucking Chinese takeout than over a credit card with no spending limit. And he’d bet his entire fortune that she hadn’t even touched the cash, much less counted it.

  How did you keep a woman like his angel happy when she didn’t appear to want anything?

  She only wants you.

  And that he could give her. If that was all it took to make her happy, to keep her happy and to make damn sure she never walked out on him, then he’d give her exactly what she wanted.

  “Once a week, same day unless it can’t be avoided, you cook for me. I’ll arrange my schedule so that I’m home no later than six. And when I say unless it can’t be avoided, Angel, I mean that nothing short of death will keep me from being here. Now that’s all I can promise,” he said in a serious voice. “You are my single most important responsibility. You gave me your trust and with that trust, you gave me yourself and you placed your faith in me that I’ll keep you happy. I take my responsibilities very seriously, and therefore I’m going to continue to spoil the hell out of you. You will not lift a finger except those nights you cook for me and you will not be washing the fucking dishes afterward. That’s what I pay a cleaning lady for. And what you can do for me is accept whatever I choose to give you and know that I give it not to take away your sense of self-worth or sharpen the divide between our net worths, but because it makes me happy. And what will make me even happier is if, as I told you the night I took you home with me for the first time, you think of creative ways of expressing your gratitude. Not be thinking of ways to pay me back and certainly not dwell on not being able to pay me back. Because that will seriously piss me the fuck off.”

  She surprised him by throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. She buried her face in his throat, and the soft whisper of her exhalations blew over his skin, setting fire to his every nerve ending.

  “I’m sorry,” she said in an emotional voice that was muffled by his throat.

  He pried her away from him and glanced sharply down at her.

  “For fuck’s sake, what the hell are you sorry for?”

  He knew his exasperation was showing, but hell, she was the single most infuriating, complex woman he’d ever known.

  “I was—I’ve been an ungrateful bitch,” she said painfully. “And selfish. I never even considered your feelings. I was too wrapped up in my own insecurities and every time another gift showed up my panic increased. You’re right. About all of it, and I’m so very sorry, Drake.”

  She lifted her hand to his jaw and caressed his cheek, the sensation like velvet, the contrast between her baby-soft skin and his much harder, life-roughened features heady and addictive. “And,” she added in a husky whisper, “you can be assured I will be very creative in my expressions of gratitude.”

  He pressed a finger to her lips and sent her a look of reprimand.

  “You will not speak of yourself that way. Ever. I shouldn’t even be having this conversation with you considering Silas had the same exact conversation verbatim with you, and if you don’t think I’ll allow him to turn you over his knee and spank that pretty ass if you say that kind of fucked-up shit about yourself again, then you couldn’t be more wrong.”

  Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “He wasn’t teasing me?” she squeaked.

  “Does Silas strike you as the type of man to tease?” Drake asked dryly.

  “Point taken,” she muttered.

  Then she glanced up at him, a gleam in her eyes that made him go instantly hard.

  “What is that look for?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Well . . . I did promise to be creative in the way I expressed my gratitude,” she said solemnly, though the too-innocent expression on her face told him she was anything but solemn.

  “Oh you did, now didn’t you? Just how creative are you, Angel?”

  She flashed a shy smile and peeked up at him from beneath her lashes. Then -->