Chapter 17—My Choices Suck

Gemma

As soon as my conscious mind breaks free from the depths of sleep, my eyes blink open, and I jolt upright in bed. Wait, hold up. How did I end up here? And more importantly, whose bed is this? I tug back the thick covers, relieved to find myself clothed, but this sweatshirt definitely isn’t mine. And neither are these damn underwear.

Then it all rushes back to me—the events by the river slowly unfold in my mind. Two men ambushed me during my run, and a freaking wolf came out of nowhere to save my life. I mean, seriously? I must have hallucinated the gigantic black wolf charging in, chomping down on one guy’s throat.

I remember feeling a blinding pain in my side before I tumbled into the frigid river. Water filled my lungs, and blackness danced around the edges of my vision. My one prevailing thought—more like a vast, debilitating regret—was that I didn’t have more time with Drake.

I pull up the oversized sweatshirt and reveal the smooth, unmarked skin on my side, starkly contrasting with the jagged scar on my hip. Not a scratch. So where did the pain come from that tumbled me over the edge of the bank?

Then another image hits me, and my heart rate triples—a nude Drake saving my life. Why the hell was he completely naked by the river? And why were his eyes brilliant green?

Lordy, Gemma. You nearly died, and all you can think about is the sheriff’s eye color?

I shuffle from bed a few minutes later and approach the closed curtains. Relief floods over me as soon as I catch sight of the familiar patio that overlooks a spacious yard and the flowing river beyond.

I must have slept the entire day since the sun hovers low over the horizon. I’ll need to call Wenonah immediately and let her know I’m okay.

But first, I need to find my savior and thank him for dragging me out of the river.

Exiting the spacious bedroom, I quickly trot upstairs to my bathroom, feeling a newfound strength and energy coursing through my veins. I take care of my business, brushing my teeth and running a comb through my wild, tangled hair, hastily twisting it up into a messy bun. With determination in my steps, I head back downstairs on a quest to find my sheriff.

However, he’s nowhere to be found in the kitchen or the living room. I stroll down the short hallway and peer into his office, catching him in a rather intense phone conversation.

“I realize we are short-staffed with the murder, Roy,” he berates sternly into the phone, sitting behind his desk in jeans and a black t-shirt. “But after the attempt on Miss Christiana’s life, right here at my damn home, I’ll be working remotely to keep a closer watch on her. On my dime, not the departments.” He glances up, his expression darkening as his eyes roam my body, and I realize I’m still in his sweatshirt and boxers. Granted, the enormous thing hangs on me to my mid-thigh. But the way his tongue grazes his lower lip, followed by his teeth, makes me feel like I’m standing in the doorway completely bare.

Holy shit-sickles. His stare is so intense.

He waves me inside. “You’re in charge of the office, Roy. Utilize Sarah, but keep me posted on all developments in the case.”

Mesmerized by the beauty before me, I make my way to the large French doors and watch as the setting sun strikes the river, captivated by how the fading sunlight dances on the river, sending a shiver down my spine. That rushing current almost took my life. Even though I’m dry and safe, my chest feels heavy with the sensations of drowning, as if I’m still gasping for breath. The weight on my chest feels like a massive rock, impossible to move.

I’m not surprised when he moves behind me. Standing close, his body heat envelops me like an electric blanket set on high. This man emanates an intoxicating warmth, mingling with notes of distinct rosewood that permeate each deep breath, causing my nipples to tighten and easing the pressure in my lungs. Every fiber of my being yearns for what this mountain of a man can offer.

‘Drake.’ My heart trembles as I mentally chant his name.

My heart longs to surrender into his embrace, revel in his comforting warmth, and lose myself in a world without worries. Alfred. My job, the enigmatic birthmark, the sinister murders, and the attempt on my life—everything fades away, forgotten.

“How are you feeling?” he inquires, his chest brushing my back. Did he sniff my hair?

“Alive. Thanks to you,” I answer, turning to face him, nearly drowning in his fierce regard. “You saved me. I was dead when you pulled me out of the river. Wasn’t I?”

The muscles in his jaw tighten as he clenches his teeth together. “Yes.” His tone is gruff, as though admitting I almost died is a struggle for him. “I’m sorry, Gemma. I failed to protect you.”

My eyes widen. “I owe you my life, Drake,” I whisper, placing my hand on his chest. “How can I ever repay you?”

My only warning is a low, almost primal growl before I’m engulfed in his burning embrace. His lips crash onto mine with a raw intensity that steals my breath away.

I wrap my arms around his massive shoulders, my hands tangle in his short hair, drawing him closer—a profound need for his warmth and embrace surges through me.

The hand on the back of my skull is solid and unyielding as it angles my head to deepen the kiss. I can feel his other hand on my backside, pulling me in closer until I’m pressed against the hard steel rod behind his jeans. My hips press against him, and a soft moan escapes my lips.

I’m sweating—my heart pounds. My knees go weak. And I never want this moment to end.

I feel a rush of disappointment as Drake breaks the kiss, only to whisper in my ear. “I didn’t save you, so you’d feel obligated to fuck me.” Hearing him growl the word fuck into my ear makes my insides clench, desperate for his thick length. “I saved you because you are important to me, and if you’d left this world, it would have crushed my heart to pieces.”

My breath catches in my throat, my grip on him tightening as I’m stunned by his confession. His embrace provides warmth and solace, and his soft lips on my neck make it difficult to find my voice.

“It’s strange. Even though I barely know you, I… I feel the same.”

He leans back, inhaling slowly, even making breathing seem seductive.

His voice softens as he urges, “Call off your engagement right now, princess, and I’ll spend the entire night demonstrating to you how much I fucking want you.”

Did I mention how much I like it when he calls me princess? Like an unreasonable amount. It makes me feel cherished. Special. Fingers of warmth spread from my chest at hearing the endearing term from his deep, growly voice. It’s unhealthy, and I can’t let it distract me from the problem at hand—Alfred’s unrelenting hold on my life.

As I take a deep breath, attempting to step back, he grips me even tighter, refusing to release me. “It’s not that simple.”

A puzzled expression crosses his face. “Gemma, it really is that simple. Just pick up your phone, dial his number, and tell him it’s over.”

As I try to retreat this time, he reluctantly lets me go, but the chill of his absence seeps into my bones. “Alfred and I share a complicated, intertwined past.”

“So you’ve said. Do you love him?” he growls, his frown deepening.

“I did once.”

“You mean when you were a young, vulnerable teenager dealing with traumatic events he took advantage of?” he asks sharply.

I’m dumbfounded. His words strike me like a slap across the face. “You investigated me?”

Exhaling in irritation, he runs his fingers through his hair. “Gemma, you bear the same birthmark as not one, but two deceased women. I needed to uncover if there was any connection between you.”

“Bullshit. You wanted something to hold over me in order to manipulate me.”

His nostrils flare. His pupils dilate. The irises shift colors.

The image of the wolf by the river flashes through my mind, its eyes gleaming like emeralds, brimming with untamed determination. It reminds me of Drake, whose gaze mirrors the same vivid hue.

Suddenly, he jerks away from me as if recoiling from a venomous snake and turns his back on me.

“Why do your eyes change color, Drake?” I ask, pursuing him as he stomps out of the office and through the side door to the garage.

As I step over the threshold, I come to a halt. Inside the three-car garage is the ultimate man cave. In one bay rests a sleek, black, and polished Harley Davidson. Surrounding it is a mechanic’s wet dream—racks and racks of every tool imaginable to work on a vehicle.

The adjacent bay houses a lengthy desk adorned with fly-fishing gear scattered across its surface. Above it, rows of fishing rods hang from brackets on the wall. Massive shelves cover the back wall with enough tackle to stock a Cabela’s store. Completing this sportsman’s paradise is a mounted trophy fish.

The last bay resembles less of a garage and more of a bar. A pool table awaits at its center, with balls neatly arranged at one end. Above the bar stands an enormous TV with a complete freaking bar with actual beer on tap and a couch and lazy boy off to the side.

I could see Drake spending a lot of time here during the harsh, unforgiving winters. Maybe with his fiancé before she died? Or working on the Harley with his brothers and playing pool with his sister and parents. Or hell, maybe he has a bunch of close guy friends to help occupy the space.

Caught off guard, I realize how little I truly know about this man. He dug into my past, and even though I wanted to delve into his, I didn’t. It felt like an invasion of his privacy.

“Are you planning to answer my question?” I muster the courage to ask, observing him pluck two beer glasses from a fridge and fill them from the tap. He places one on the bar and downs half of the other in a single gulp.

“Are you going to leave your fiancé?” His piercing glare sends shivers down my spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “And if you dare utter ‘It’s complicated’ one more time, I swear I’ll take you over my knee and spank your ass red.”

What the….

My brain momentarily short-circuits. My curiosity and defiance intertwine, raising my eyebrow in a challenge. Sass builds within me, surging up from my chest as I contemplate putting his words to the test. Are they empty threats, or does he genuinely intend to take me over his knee and spank me? Oddly enough, as much as I loathe Alfred for bullying me with similar tactics, the clenching of my vagina indicates I would like a spanking from Drake if the reward were his hands and mouth on my body.

“Jesus. You push my limits of self-control,” he growls from across the garage before I can respond.

“I don’t mean to,” I confess, my voice barely above a whisper, igniting a fire in his eyes.

“Yes, you do. Come here, princess. Enjoy your beer before it gets warm and tell me what that bastard is holding over your head to keep you tethered to him.”

Overwhelmed with anguish, I drop my gaze. I’d love nothing more than to lay my burdens at his feet. To beg him for his help.

I can’t. Alfred has influence in this state. He could easily crush Drake’s life. I will not allow him to hurt my sheriff. Even if it means I must turn away from the man who holds my heart.