Shifter Sisters (Collection) by Sierra Dafoe

Author:Sierra Dafoe [Dafoe, Sierra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-03-07T23:42:57.551000+00:00

Chapter Four

The restaurant was a small, whitewashed brick building, set back from the street behind a patio screened with vines. The place seemed entirely deserted as Drake turned the key in the door, but as she entered Tori saw the soft gleam of candlelight.

She hesitated on the doorstep and Drake murmured, “Go ahead. It’s all right, I own the place.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, “you mentioned that.”

“Did I?” Taking her jacket, he hung it on the coat rack and led her into the cozy dining room, where a single table was set with linen and china, lit by two tall tapers in silver candlesticks. A cool light trickled from under the kitchen door. He seated her politely and filled her wineglass. The candlelight glowed softly on his white pearl cufflinks. Tori noticed the rolls in a basket on the table were still warm, the fresh tossed salad still crisp and cool.

Somebody had timed this all very well.

What if I want more than that? What if I wanted to make you come, right now?

Which, of course, was exactly what he’d done.

Her legs wobbled, and she was acutely conscious of the wetness slicking her crotch, the way her body trembled, hungering for more…

There’d been a message there, and not a particularly subtle one, either. If that’s what I want, I’ll have it. Drake Foster was a man who got what he wanted.

How dare he? Tori felt a surge of anger. How dare he just manipulate me like that?

But why? Why would he want to? Or was he the sort of man who didn’t need a reason -- simply the assertion of his will was enough?

Watching those hard, chiseled features, Tori thought it might, in fact, be as simple as that.

The place was lovely -- tasteful watercolors of coastal scenes hung on the walls, small tables set here and there, all with their chairs upturned on top of them at this hour of the night. Whatever the smell wafting from the kitchen was, it set her stomach to growling. She was ravenous.

I guess getting finger-fucked in the back of a limo’ll do that to a girl. Picking up her fork, she dug into the salad.

“So,” she asked after a moment, “is this what you do?”

“This? No.” He speared a piece of lettuce and chewed, gesturing idly at the room. “Well yes, partly. The place was a dump when I bought it. And I like Italian food, so…” He took another bite, then rose and went to the bar in the back of the room, made himself a scotch on the rocks and returned with it.

Even at this late hour, he moved with a poised, controlled energy. Like a panther, Tori thought. Graceful but powerful. Reseating himself, he continued. “I’m an entrepreneur. I invest in things.”

“Restaurants, you mean.”

“Restaurants, warehouses, textile mills, medical supplies…”

Tori’s head jerked up. She couldn’t help it. She could picture the small Styrofoam chest the delivery guy brought faithfully every Tuesday; the bar code, the return address, the patch on his uniform shirt…

FLI. Foster-Laumb Industries.

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