“You’re wrong when you say you have nothing to give me,” he said gruffly, still grappling with revelations still swirling in his mind. “But I do understand, Angel. I understand only all too well.”
Suddenly the distance between them was too much. Not just the physical distance but the emotional distance as well. He’d made so many mistakes with her. And even knowing she wasn’t like any other woman he’d ever met, he’d still treated her the same. Lavishing expensive gifts on her instead of providing the things that really mattered to her. Even knowing the priceless treasure he possessed and that she was unique and rare, he hadn’t made the effort to truly learn her.
He held out his arms, holding his breath and hoping she didn’t refuse him. “Come here, Angel. I refuse to have this conversation when you look tired on your feet and all I want to do is hold you.”
He exhaled a long sigh of relief when after only a slight hesitation, she walked into his arms. He wrapped them around her and for a long moment he simply held her, closing his eyes as he buried his face in her sweet-smelling hair.
Then he maneuvered her to the sofa and sat, pulling her down into his lap, once more wrapping his arms tightly around her. Her slight frame nestled perfectly against his. As if she’d been made for him and only him. Two pieces of a puzzle.
So fucking perfect. Soft, warm. So loving and generous. She was a shining light in the darkest recesses of his tarnished soul. A welcome-home gift—treasure—every time he walked through his door.
“First I want to address the issue of equality and what you can contribute to make you feel as though you give me something in return for what I give you. Though, babe, if all you ever gave me were you, I’d spend the rest of my life trying to catch up, because nothing and I mean nothing I give you will ever be more precious than you giving yourself to me. You can’t put a price tag on something that is priceless and worth more than all the money in the world.”
He felt her smile against his chest, and he caressed the length of her hair, resting his chin atop her head, marveling at the contentment he felt over such a simple act.
“You’re an excellent cook and you said yourself you love cooking. At first, I didn’t like the idea of you cooking for me when I came home because as I told you that very first night, I never meant for you to be a domestic slave.”
She leaned away from his chest so she could look at him, mischief in her eyes. “Just a sex slave,” she teased.
He relaxed, relief surging through his veins because she was no longer tense, nor did she seem angry.
He smacked her playfully on the behind but left his palm there, cupping the soft plumpness of her ass.
“Damn right,” he said with no remorse whatsoever. “But I took something away from you that I shouldn’t have. I made you feel as though you contributed nothing to our relationship. You enjoyed cooking for me and you were happy that I loved your meal. Hell, I even loved those fucking cupcakes and you had every single one of my men eating out of your hand so they’d get one too. If someone had told me a month ago that the men who work for me would eagerly be lining up for a cupcake made by an angel, I would have laughed myself stupid.”
She blushed but her eyes were shining in delight, the corners of her mouth tilted upward into that delectable quirky half smile that was so characteristic of her. Some might consider it a fault, but Drake found it endearing. Even now, he paused to drop his head and nibble at the corner of her mouth, running his tongue over that delicious little quirk. She shivered against him in response and his entire body tightened. So fucking responsive. He’d thought it, said it, too many times to count since she’d barged into his life, or, if he was honest, since he’d dragged her into his life.
She lit up for him. Him. Only him. Hell, she’d been around his men, his brothers, all men most bitches couldn’t keep their hands off of, and yet Evangeline smiled at them, was affectionate with them all, much to their disgruntlement and bewilderment, but in no way could her actions or responses ever be construed as sensual. She wasn’t a flirt. She was too damn honest, not to mention too innocent to even know how. If she liked you, she was nice to you and she let you know she liked you. It was as simple as that. And apparently she’d decided that she liked all his brothers. Men would die to have a woman go up in flames the instant they looked at her in a certain way. Or touched her, kissed her, whispered the right words. He had such a woman right here on his lap and in his arms. In his bed every night, offering her complete submission as sweetly as a woman ever had, and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to fuck up and lose her.