Page 27 of Reclaiming Izabel

Sunday, I took him to the Glen Ford neighborhood—the site of the Solace Foundation development. Despite the uncertainty of our relationship, I felt compelled to share an important part of my current life.

The neighborhood was built in the late seventies of predominantly ranch-style homes and A-frames. When the recession of the eighties took a toll on its residents, families moved out, unable to sustain their mortgages, paving the way for the gangs to move in. The area had become a ghetto. But with the influx of immigrants in the past decade, a kind of coexistence started to take shape. The gangs were ever-present, but with the growing strength of the immigrants who were determined to make a better life for themselves, the economy in the area improved. I had gotten close to several residents. One of them was Luisa Romero, the owner of a popular taqueria in the area.

Knowing Drake had a weakness for tacos and tres leches cake made it a win-win destination, and it was a chance for me to show him my accomplishments. Although I wondered if I was uncomfortable being alone with him in the house.

Our conversations remained stilted—at least on my part. I wasn’t sure what to say, what was expected of me, and how to behave. Part of me wanted to hug the man he was. My body reacted to his electric presence, but it was my mind and heart that weren’t on board with simply melting into his arms.

I made a disgruntled sound as I headed over to the counter to collect the tostada. I slammed the microwave door with more strength than was necessary.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

I jumped and squinted at the owner of the voice. Near the entrance of the kitchen, leaning against the wall, was Drake, arms crossed and shirtless. Again. Not only that, the top button of his jeans was undone, revealing that trail of hair that sexily disappeared below the waistband. He still hadn’t trimmed his beard and smirked when he caught me looking at it. He seemed more refreshed, and certainly more relaxed than I was.

Damn the man.

I knew what he was doing. Grr.

“Can you please put on a shirt when you’re in the house?”

A brow shot up. “As I recall, that didn’t bother you before.” His lips curled into a grin. “I take that back. You loved me without my shirt on.”

“Things are different now.”

Something flashed in his eyes. I knew that look. It was the gleam when he wanted to throttle me but would rather fuck me instead.

Warmth tingled between my legs.

Oh, hell no.

I took a bite of my tostada. “I’m late for work,” I muttered and grabbed the coffee tumbler.

“Hang on a sec. I’ll take you.”

I tried to dissuade him of that notion, but Drake had already disappeared up the stairs.What the hell did he mean he’d take me?

When my husband reappeared, casually walking up to me, I did my best to reward him with a death glare.

“You are not taking me to work.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why?”

“So, I can pick you up after.”

“I thought you didn’t want Marcus to know you’re alive just yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to see he doesn’t find out.”

I huffed in annoyance. “I have to make visits to client sites.”

Drake hissed a breath. “I’ve got shit to do. Can’t drive you around all day.”

I rolled my eyes. “I wasn’t expecting you to in the first place.” But instead of feeling relieved that he wouldn’t be chauffeuring me around, concern took over. “You got a lead on something?”

“Need to touch base with the team.”

“Is that where you went last night?”

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