Page 25 of Dangerous Passion

There was a huge antique four poster that could sleep a basketball team, with rich emerald green sheets made of expensive polished cotton. And they’d definitely have to have been custom-made, no commercially made sheets would fit that huge bed. Her hands itched to touch the material, it looked so thick and soft. With an emerald-green custom-made down comforter on top.

Her own bed was nice. She’d splurged on a big bed with an orthopedic mattress and she liked pretty sheets, but it was nothing like this.

Plants here, too. Huge and lush and thriving. The air had that freshness only plants could give a room.

Plush carpets in jewel tones were everywhere, and living room sets were scattered throughout the huge space creating intimate little corners.

They passed by a hearth made of black marble that was big enough to roast an elephant in. Someone had lit the fire atleast an hour ago because the fire was mature, smokeless red-orange flames licking greedily upward.

Colors. There were so many rich, deep colors everywhere and she realized how color starved she was in Manhattan, where everything seemed to be either black or white or—when designers went really wild—taupe and ecru.

Color was a gift from the gods and how anyone could live in a black and white environment puzzled her endlessly. Here there was no dearth of colors. Colors and textures and—she had to keep from gasping—a view to kill for. They were very high up. The lights of Manhattan were spread out like an array of diamonds all across one wall. Thick green curtains hung at the edges of the big windows. At midday, the place must be flooded with light. She could see the Chrysler building and the Empire State Building in the distance and a deep black square close by that must be Central Park, so they were in a serious money zone. This kind of space in these zip codes was way up there in the mega-rich category.

She’d been so busy taking in her surroundings she hadn’t spoken, but Drake seemed perfectly comfortable with silence. This was unusual. Most men weren’t comfortable with silence. They wanted to hear the sounds of their own voices and they wanted to hear women echoing what they were saying. Luckily, Drake seemed as immune to that as she was.

They’d reached the far wall and he opened a big white laminated door with a shiny brass handle. “Here we are,” he said, opening the door.

Grace nearly gasped. It wasn’t a bathroom, it was … it was an apartment. Certainly as big as her own apartment, with acres of rich green marble countertops, emerald green tiles, several amazingly elaborate shower stalls with an array of nozzles and … yes, a tub as large as a small pool with fingers of steam rising from it. And about a billion jets around the rim, promising a water massage guaranteed to ease the ache in her muscles.

Every cell in her body yearned to be in that tub, but there was something she absolutely had to know first.

She turned around to look Drake full in the face. She’d been stealing glances at him, fascinated by his hard face, but had been too embarrassed to stare. Now she studied him openly, studied those firm, almost ascetic features, the features of a strong man who’d seen and done hard things.

She looked him straight in the eyes. Eyes that were dark brown, with no striations at all. Just that solid color, as if a child had filled in his pupils with a crayon. The whites of his eyes were the clear white of someone who lived healthily. But one never knew.

She wrapped her arms around her midriff, a little scared because if he gave the wrong answer to her question, the answer she was dreading, she was in big trouble. Terrible trouble. Alone in a building with a man who seemed to be so powerful in so many ways, so very capable of crushing her.

Here goes nothing.

She drew in a deep breath, the words coming out in a trembling rush.“I’m sorry to have to ask this, but I can’t stay here a second longer without knowing the answer. Please tell me that whatever all that violence was about, it wasn’t about drugs. That this—“ she waved her hand, encompassing the baronial splendor of the apartment, “this isn’t about drugs. I—I need to be certain about that.”

Because otherwise, she’d just vomit her misery up and leave immediately, though she had no idea where she couldgo. Not with thugs possibly gunning for her. Assuming he evenlether go.

Drake didn’t say anything for a long moment, just watched her out of cool, calm eyes. Her heart drummed wildly, like that of a trapped bird’s.

Then he took her hand and placed it against his chest, right over his own heart. He’d had a clean black shirt waiting in the clinic and she could now feel that it was made of thick raw silk. Underneath she could feel slabs of hard muscle, his wiry chest hairs and the slow, strong beat of an athlete’s heart.

“Put your mind at ease. What happened today had absolutely nothing to do with drugs,” he said in a low, even voice. His gaze held hers, steady and direct. “I abhor drugs as much as you do. Maybe more. I would die rather than have anything to do with them.”

Grace was an observer, used to living on the sidelines of life. She’d developed a good understanding of people. He was either telling the truth or he was a world-class liar.

“However,” he said softly, “what you saw had everything to do with money and power.”

“Money and power.” She shrugged her shoulders, hand still on his chest. All of New York ran on money and power. “That’s nothing. I just couldn’t bear the thought of being in the home of someone who is involved in drugs.”

“I’m not.” He dipped his head briefly, eyes locked on hers. “You have my word.”

Christ, she must be insane, because she was buying this, totally. She had the distinct impression he rarely gave his word and when he did, he kept it. Whoa, maybe shewasconcussed. She searched his eyes for a moment longer and found nothing but directness, some sadness and some pain.

Against all the odds, she believed him.

“Okay. I’m sorry I asked, but I had to.” A huge weight had been lifted from her chest.

He dipped his head again. “I understand completely.”

Slowly and carefully, he lifted her hand from his chest and brought it to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss on the back. Even his mouth was hot, the soft brush of his lips painting a small circle of flames on the back of her hand.

Her body blossomed.

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