So the big bad CEO is afraid of the dark? A small part of me feels comforted by this fact – it makes him more human somehow. The bed is plenty big enough to accommodate us both and if I’d been locked in a room of my own all night, I would crumble into a sobbing hysterical mess as the gravity of my new living situation hit me. Being near him means I have to keep my carefully crafted mask in place. Besides, I’m used to sharing a bedroom with Becca since we were infants, and the idea of sleeping alone in an unfamiliar place doesn’t appeal to me. I was sure the sounds and groans from the house would keep me up most of the night, my mind churning. At least I’ll have someone nearby if something happened. Of course this same someone could roll toward me in the night expecting sex. But something tells me the sex won’t happen tonight. I have to take my chances – not that I have a choice, I remind myself. I am his to do with what he pleases.
I crawl into the far side of the bed and curl into a tight ball, praying for sleep to come easy.
"No fuckin’ way," he grunts. "Over here, sweetness."
I exhale slowly and slide my body closer to his, keeping my back to him, only stopping when the firm wall of male warmth stops me. He wraps one heavy arm around my middle and tugs me close – until my back is pressed against his chest. My heart kicks up speed in my chest. There’s something about this close, intimate contact that unravels me. Although I’m used to sharing a bedroom with Becca, I’m certainly not accustomed to spooning with a man all night long. Let alone one I hardly know who’s already turned me into a puddle of hormones. Geez.
His rough hand settles against my bare hip and my breathing instantly falters. His fingers splay open across my abdomen, lightly caressing me. My muscles stiffen as I wait for his hand to push between my legs, taking what I’ve kept guarded most of my life.
"Relax," he encourages, his voice whispery soft and sleepy. "Nothing more will happen tonight." He continues rubbing me – my hip, the indent of my belly, the top of my thigh, almost like he’s testing me, training me to be comfortable with him The warmth of his breath against my hair and his hand lightly caressing my skin make it tough to relax, but eventually I do, growing accustomed to the new sensations. My eyes slip closed and I enjoy the soothing touch he’s delivering before drifting off to sleep.
Chapter Four
Sophie
I’m not sure what I expected, but the following morning when I roll over in the gigantic bed, Drake is already gone. The crinkled white Egyptian cotton sheets are the only bit of evidence he’d been there at all. He was a good sleeping companion. Quiet and true to his word – he didn’t try anything with me.
I stretch leisurely and take my time rolling from the bed. In the opulent bathroom, I debate taking a shower – I’m dying to use the luxurious steam shower with its six shower heads, but decide instead to make it brief in case Drake is expecting me downstairs.
After smoothing my hair down in the mirror, I wander downstairs in search of coffee. The house is completely silent. As I pass by room after room on my way to kitchen, it feels like I’m walking through a museum.
Drake is sitting at the breakfast bar, leaning over his iPad with a cup of steaming espresso sitting nearby.
"Morning," I say.
His gaze lifts up to meet mine, his mouth tugged down in a frown. I feel like I’m interrupting him. He taps a few more keys on his tablet and then glances up again, his frown now absent. "Morning."
"Is there coffee?" He said I should make myself at home, and so I try to fight off the feeling that I should retreat to a dark corner of the house and stop interrupting him.
He tips his head to the elaborate stainless steel brewing system installed into one wall. That is not a coffee pot. It could very well be a time machine for all I know. "My staff – the housekeepers and cook have all been made aware of your presence here. They think you’re a friend who’s staying with me. So if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. Marta’s my favorite. You can trust her, okay?"
I nod. "So, what’s our story? About how I know you."
A crease permeates his brow as he thinks it over. "You’re the younger sister of a college friend of mine. You’re in LA trying to make it as a model and I offered you a place to stay until you get a job. How does that sound?"
"A model?" Me? I glance down at myself and nearly roll my eyes. I don’t have the height or weight requirements to be a model. "Let’s make our story at least somewhat believable."
"Yes. A model. And it is believable."
I chew on my lower lip, internalizing this information at how he views me. "Okay." Whatever. "Does this brother of mine have a name?"
He thinks it over. "Anthony."
"I’m not Italian."
"Fine, John."
"Where did you and John go to college?"
"Harvard," he says without batting an eyelash.
Wow. Impressive. I guess the multi-million dollar home sitting directly on the beach in Malibu and the running two companies thing makes sense. He has a top notch education. He’s smart, powerful, and sexy. Altogether, a lethal combination. I still don’t understand how he’s single. "Are you from the east coast originally?" I ask.
He nods. "Connecticut."
Just then, the doorbell rings – it’s an obnoxious chime that goes on for what seems like forever. My eyes flick over to his. "Are you expecting someone?"
He sets the porcelain espresso cup down on the counter. "I guess it’s a good thing we came up with that story," he says, then heads off to answer the door.
What the hell? I’m standing in his kitchen wearing the baggy T-shirt he gave me last night, no bra, and paper thin cotton pants without any panties, and apparently I’m about to meet someone from his life. Perfect.
Seconds later, Drake reenters the kitchen, flanked by two men who share his same features. The resemblance is uncanny. My first thought is: there are three of him?
It’s overwhelming to have them all in the same room, all of their brilliant blue eyes watching me.
"Who’s this?" One of the Drake look-alikes asks with a cocky grin. His eyes are devouring me and his mouth is curved up in a crooked smile. He looks to be a few years younger than Drake, which makes me realize for the first time that Drake must have a couple of years on me.
"Sophie, these are my brothers." He points to the cocky-grinned younger version of himself. "Pace." And then to the slightly taller version with kind eyes, "And Collins."