Chapter 6

Drake’s POV

The silence of the penthouse office was a scream.

The air conditioning hummed, the city lights glittered with their indifferent million-dollar sparkle, and the only proof that Chloe Anthony had been here, stripped bare, defiant, and shattering my control was the faint, sweet scent of her arousal clinging to the thick carpet and, unforgivably, the taste still lingering on my tongue.

I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, the glass cool beneath my fingers, and took a slow, deep breath, trying to inhale the cold, sterile air of corporate dominance. It didn't work. The scent of her jasmine and reckless youth overrode the expensive leather and polished wood of my domain.

Get it together, Drake.

I reached up, running the back of my hand across my lower lip, scrubbing ruthlessly. I had wiped the evidence clean the moment I pulled away, yet the phantom taste, that coppery, intensely female nectar—persisted. It was a vile, intoxicating r