What would she have ever done if she’d never met Drake? How hollow would her life be even now if he weren’t a part of it? She closed her eyes tightly, felt the hot tears slide down her cheek, and she gulped back her sob as she clung tightly to him in the explosive aftermath.
He lowered his heaving body to hers, panting as he struggled to catch his breath. He buried his face in her hair and gathered her so close in his arms that there wasn’t an inch of her skin not covered by him.
“Never had anything so sweet in my life,” he barely managed to get out. “Never will again. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had, Angel. Don’t ever leave me. Please don’t leave me.”
She was shocked by the vulnerability she heard in his voice. Shocked that he’d allowed her to witness it. Or perhaps he had no idea what he was saying. But his words, his impassioned plea, rocked her all the way to her heart and soul.
“I won’t,” she said tenderly. “Never, Drake, darling. I’ll always be here. As long as you want me, I am yours.”
He crushed her to him, holding her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. “I need you, Angel. I need you so damn much.”
His words were so hushed that she thought she’d imagined them at first. A euphoric thrill washed through her blood, and peace settled over her. Maybe . . . just maybe fairy tales did come true.
21
Evangeline lay in Drake’s arms, so contented that she was utterly boneless with it. She was draped completely over his body, lying atop him, their legs tangled with the sheets and blankets.
She’d attempted to move once, but Drake’s hold had tightened on her and he’d simply murmured, “I like you right where you are, Angel.”
Evangeline idly caressed him, running her fingers lightly over the muscled contours of his body and through the smattering of hair at the top of his chest and the slightly thicker and darker line that whorled in the very center before drifting in a straight line to his navel.
The man was a god. A magnificent sexy beast of a man that no other man she’d ever seen could even come close to. And he was all hers.
She smiled her smug satisfaction and lay there a long moment savoring the intimacy of their hold.
And then thoughts from the holiday drifted through her mind and she remembered Drake’s stiff response to her mother saying how proud his parents must be of him. And his awed thank-you for the best holiday anyone had ever given him. He’d said that no one had ever cooked a holiday meal for him. For that matter, that very first time she’d cooked for him, he’d said, somewhat bewilderingly, that no one had ever cooked anything for him.
Surely he meant as an adult. Wouldn’t his mother have cooked for him when he was a child?
Icy fingers of dread clutched at her heart because somehow she sensed that Drake’s childhood had not been a happy one. For that matter, the common tie that seemed to bind all of his men together as brothers was less-than-ideal pasts. None of them had actually spoken of their pasts, but then neither had they ever once mentioned having families. No references to their childhoods. Nothing.
She levered herself off his chest enough that she could look into his eyes, and she did so earnestly, searching his gaze for any sign that perhaps she should let this go or at least bring it up some other time.
When she saw nothing but warmth and tenderness, she nibbled at her lower lip and then hesitantly broached the subject on her mind.
“Drake? Can I ask you something?” she asked tentatively.
His eyes narrowed but he didn’t look angry. Just . . . worried. “Of course. What is it, Angel?”
“I wanted to ask you about . . . well . . . you. Your past,” she said nervously.
His lips flattened into a thin line and his eyes became glacial. She wasn’t sure he even realized the change in his features because it appeared he was making an effort not to become angry or irritated at her inquiry.
“What about it?” he asked in a flat tone.
She sighed and sat up, positioning her body to the side of him so she could look at him and monitor his reactions.
“You never talk about it. Your childhood. Your parents. You were obviously not comfortable when my mother brought up your parents. And I realize this may not be something you want to discuss, Drake. If it isn’t, then I’ll drop it. But I feel like it still has power over you in some way. That it . . . hurts you still. And I would do anything to stop you from hurting,” she whispered.