Page 24 of Draven

A firm rap on the door sends my pulse into overdrive.

Relax. Calm down.

I dry my sweaty hands on a towel, and like a newborn foal discovering its spindly legs for the first time, I hobble across the living room and open the door. Draven is standing on the other side, his trademark leather jacket unzipped, with a tight-fitting black T-shirt underneath it. His jeans cling to his thighs, and he’s wearing heavy work-type boots. He’s left his hair wild and free, exactly as I like it.

“Ready?” he asks, pushing his sunglasses on top of his head, allowing me to drown in his hickory-smoked eyes.

“Hi.” My voice is annoyingly breathy, so I clear my throat and hold up my cup. “One for the road?”

“No time. Let’s go.”

He spins around and marches down the hallway, leaving me scrambling to lock up. By the time I get outside, he’s already started the bike and is sitting astride it, waiting.

I groan. “Can’t we take my car?”

He thrusts a helmet at me. “No. It’s faster by bike. Now, get on. Or don’t. Your choice.”

All that worrying about yesterday and how it might make things awkward between us, and for what? Draven’s attitude is the same as always: irritating.

I grind my teeth together and snatch the helmet from him. “Who’s bitten your ass this morning?”

“No one, but I’ll bite your fucking ass if you don’t get a move on.”

Yes, please.

“Jerk,” I mutter, mounting the bike and tugging the helmet over my carefully brushed hair. Some good that’ll do me now. By the time we arrive, it’ll look like a bird’s nested in there for the winter. Then again, why should I care? He obviously doesn’t. I push away how horrible that thought makes me feel. This is Draven. The question I should ask myself is why am I surprised? Just because he showed a sliver of tenderness yesterday after he’d brutalized my mouth with his punishing kiss doesn’t mean he’s changed. Once an asshole, always an asshole.

He sets off before I’ve wrapped my arms around his waist, and I clutch a handful of his leather jacket to keep me steady as I curse him under my breath. It’s clear a night’s sleep has given him a different perspective on what happened between us yesterday.

Come on, Lou. It was one kiss. No biggie.

Except it had meant something to me. As much as it pains me to admit it, I can’t lie to myself any longer. I’ve harbored a crush on the biggest jerk in the world for eight years. And what’s worse is that I know I’ll feel the same way in another eight years. The man got under my skin a long time ago, and he’s dug in for the foreseeable future.

It isn’t as if I’ve thought about him every day, but I followed his career with a keen interest, and occasionally allowed myself to imagine what he would be like in bed. If he fucked anything like he kissed, I’ve gotten the answer to that particular question yesterday.

A ripple of pleasure rushes through me, recalling how hard his body was. The ease with which he overpowered me. The dominating thrust of his tongue throwing up vivid images, which had my arms tightening around his waist, and my palms flattening against his rock-solid abs.

An hour and a half later, Draven slows the bike and pulls up to the security barrier in front of a police building. After giving our names and showing ID, the guard lifts the barrier, and Draven parks in front of the main building and cuts the engine. He removes his helmet, waiting with a hint of impatience as I dismount and do the same. While he secures the helmets to his bike, I make a poor attempt of getting my hair back into some semblance of order, although, once again, Draven shows absolutely no interest. His hair has been destroyed by the headgear, too, but on him, it looks hot. On me… well, it’s a safe bet that I look like a Yeti.

Draven holds the door to reception open for me, and I walk through. We’re signing in when a familiar voice calls my name.

“Dang, Rhodes, what are you doing getting into bed with this crazy bastard?”

I turn around slowly, my middle finger already in position. “Fuck off, Rick.”

He grins, takes three strides, then pulls me into a warm hug. “Good to see you, Lola.”

A growl erupts from behind me. “It’s Louise to you, dickface,” Draven says in a sharp tone that could cut glass.

My arms erupt in goosebumps. If I didn’t know better, I might read a hint of possessiveness in that statement, or even jealousy. That can’t be right, though. He may want to fuck me, but getting his dick wet with what I’d wager is some kind of a revenge fuck doesn’t mean he wants me. I’m reading into it, that’s all.

“Hmm.” Rick runs a hand over his chin. “Interesting.”

I’m not sure what he means by that, and I’m not in the mood to ask. I am, however, in a mood, and I blame Draven. “You’d do well to remember it’s Louise to you, too,” I say, giving him a flat stare.

Rick sniggers. “Tell him, Rhodes. I’ve been waiting a long time for someone to put the big guy in his place.”

“Moretti ready?” Draven snaps.

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