Page 52 of Promise Me Forever

“You want me to come with you?”

“No, no, I’m good. Why don’t you order dessert for us both, if that’s all right?”

He nods and assures me that it is. Turning around, I try not to make it obvious that I’m scanning the packed room, looking for Drake or maybe for a suspicious-looking dude wearing a T-shirt that saysDrake James’s Minion.

It’s crowded in here, but I don’t see any sign of him. That should be a relief, so why am I disappointed? What the hell is wrong with me?

He’s Drake James. He’s made it clear he’s not interested in relationships, especially not with his employees, which I one hundred percent understand. So why is he bothered about my date? Or am I overthinking this? Maybe there really is a work emergency. It makes a lot more sense that Drake would be upset about that than he would about my social life.

I head to the stairs that lead to the ground floor. At this point, I really do need some fresh air. And possibly a brain transplant.

I’m so deep in my own thoughts that I don’t notice the man in the suit standing near the fire escape until he opens the heavy metal door. The rest all happens quickly, an unreal blur. I look up at the sound of the door opening, then feel a warm hand on the small of my back, and a hot, sexy-as-hell mouth is at my ear. “Why did you ignore my instructions, Amelia?”

“Drake?”

“In the flesh,” he says, his voice terse. “We need to talk.”

He bundles me out onto the cold stairwell, letting the heavy fire door slam closed behind us. One second I was in a busy restaurant, and the next I’m trapped out here, alone with a very pissed-looking Drake. I want to be pissed right back, but I’m not doing a great job of it.

Still, I fold my arms over my chest, gathering all the indignation I can muster while staring up at his impossibly handsome face. “What the hell are you doing?”

He glares at me, his jaw twitching and his mouth tight. Goosebumps break out all over my flesh, and I know it’s notfrom the temperature because it is perfectly balmy out here. “I think the more pertinent question is what the hell are you doing, Miss Ryder?”

“I’m on a date.”

“Yes, I can fucking see that,” he growls.

I shake my head in astonishment. “What does that even have to do with you?”

He draws a breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring. He inches closer, and I retreat until my back hits the cold metal door we just came out of. “It has everything to do with me. If he touches you again, I’m going to send him to the Chicago office. If he’s lucky. I might open an office in Siberia to get rid of him.”

“Touch me? He barely brushed my hand.”

His tongue, his wickedly sinful tongue, darts out, and he runs it over his bottom lip. “I. Don’t. Care.”

Anger simmers beneath my skin. Just because he gave me the best orgasms of my life, the kind that usually only happen in movies and books, doesn’t mean he gets to act like a psycho. “So you don’t want me, but no one else can have me, is that it? You don’t want to touch me, but nobody else can either?”

He steps forward until his body is barely a millimeter from mine. The slightest movement from either of us would have his chest flush against mine. “You think I don’t want you?”

I tip my jaw and try my best to maintain a semblance of composure. “You made that very clear.”

He bangs his fist on the steel door beside my head, making me jump. “Goddammit, Amelia, I wish that I didn’t fucking want you. Life would be so much easier if that were true. But every second of every goddamn day, all I can think about is how badly I want to touch you. How I want to kiss you and taste you and bend you over my desk and fuck you!”

Oh sweet baby Jesus. I’m going to melt into this door. I’ll be stuck to it forever. “You do?”

A low, dangerous growl rolls in his throat. “Every. Fucking. Second.”

I need to get out of here. I need to get very far away. My body is too treacherous. There’s no way I can resist him, especially not when he’s looking at me like he is right now. “We can’t do this,” I whisper.

“You think I don’t know that? You think that every time you walk into my office and I picture you naked in my bed and remember how fucking beautiful you looked when I made you come that I don’t realize how completely fucking wrong it is?”

My body burns like my blood is on fire. He’s still my boss, still a playboy. He’s still a man who could destroy me in every possible way. It’s still wrong. So why does it feel so right?

Or maybe it just feels good. And perhaps that’s why my body instinctively leans into his and my hand curls around the back of his neck. Maybe that’s why I don’t stop him when he takes my mouth, claiming it in a hungry, bruising kiss. I moan, parting my lips. He tastes of bourbon and sugar and Drake. He kisses me like I’m the oxygen feeding his fire, like he’ll die if he doesn’t consume as much of me as possible.

I have never been kissed like this in my life, not even by him. It is all-consuming and intoxicating, and it might burn me to the ground. One hand fists in my hair as he tips my head back, giving him the perfect angle to dominate me. And all I can do is let him. He explores my mouth, all tongue and teeth and lips, brutal as he takes what he wants from me. I rock my hips forward, pressing against him. A surge of triumph hurtles through me when I feel how hard he is. He wants me as much as I want him.

He finally breaks our kiss, leaving me gasping for air and grinding himself into me. “That’s all for you, Amelia. You have me walking around this city with a permanent fucking hard-on.” He tilts his head, eyes narrowed as they rake over my face. “Is the feeling mutual?”

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