Chapter Three

Madeline

I process what Drake said as we drive through town. Despite the late hour, there are people everywhere. Halloween is way too popular around here.

But he's right, I decide. People do tend to forget the trauma they left you with, even when you don't. It's easier to brush aside the way you made someone feel than it is to forget the way you felt, especially when their mistreatment is a core memory for you. To them, it's just another memory in a long line. But for you, it's foundational, indelibly stamped on your psyche for the rest of your life.

No matter how big you grow or how old you get, you never forget how small you were made to feel.

It makes me sad that someone like him knows what that's like. He didn't deserve it, and I think he hates Halloween because of it.

"Pull over," I say, coming to an instant decision.

He turns to look at me, his brows furrowed.

"Just trust me, Drake." I smile at him. "Pull over."

He reluctantly navigates the truck to the curb, parking outside an old Victorian that looks like Halloween vomited all over it. There are fake gravestones all over the yard, with body bags hanging in the trees. Spiders dangle beside them from strings.

Honestly, if I ever find out who decided spiders should be a whole thing, we're going to war. I might even learn to fight just to make it happen.

"We need a bag." I unlatch my seatbelt and start rummaging through his truck. For a reclusive billionaire, he has a lot of crap in it. I toss pens and notebooks and at least fifteen different packages of gum into the backseat. "Okay, seriously. Why so many notebooks?"

"I take a lot of notes." He shrugs defensively.

"About what?"

"Businesses."

I narrow my eyes on him. "Uh, what exactly do you do, Drake? Spy for a foreign government?"

He chuckles. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a smart ass?"

"A time or two."

"We own nine different companies," he mutters. "My brother, Jack, calls me nine thousand times a day to discuss something or another about one of them. It's easier to keep his bullshit straight if I write it down."

"You own nine companies? Impressive." I wouldn't even know what to do with one company. Trying to keep the inner workings of nine of them straight seems exhausting to me. I toss another notebook in the back and grab a pair of boxers off the floorboard.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters.

I dangle them from my fingers, turning to look at him. "Um. Why are your underwear glowing in the dark?"

He makes a grab for them, but I quickly hold them out of his reach, smirking. "Don't look at those, unicorn."

"Oh, I'm definitely looking at these." I unfold them and then crack up laughing. "Why are their stick figure people doing it on the crotch of your underwear, Drake?"

"They aren't stick figures. They're constellations."

"Okay. So why are constellation people doing it on the crotch of your underwear?"

"Because my asshole brother thinks he's funny," he mutters, stretching across the seat to grab them from me. He immediately balls them up and tosses them into the backseat over his shoulder. "It's supposed to be The Big Bang."

"Oh, clever." I giggle and then reach into the floorboard again, coming up with an empty plastic bag. "Aha!"

"Unicorn, why do you need an empty plastic bag? What are we doing here?"

"We're going trick or treating."

He eyes me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have. I mean, I probably have. We're too old for this, and I know that. But he hates Halloween because of the bad memories associated with the holiday. And if anyone gets that, I do. I have my own bad memories battling around in the back of my head. But this isn't about me. It's about him.

I want to remind him that the memories aren't all bad. At one point, he loved this holiday. He said it was his favorite. He didn't deserve to have that enjoyment taken from him by bullies.

Is going trick or treating utterly ridiculous? Yes. Is it worth it if it erases those little lines from around his eyes? Also yes.

"Why?"

"Because this entire town freaking loves Halloween, Drake," I remind him. "Do you really think they're going to care if we ring the bell and ask for a piece of candy?"

"Why, Madeline?"

I huff out a breath. "Because I know what it feels like to live with trauma," I admit. "My parents divorced when I was a kid, and I was their tug-of-war rope. I had everything, but I never felt like I had their love. Everything they did for me, they did just to spite the other. It ruined a lot of holidays." I shrug, glancing down at the bag in my hands. "Maybe I don't like the thought of this one being permanently ruined for you because you have trauma, too."

"Damn," he says, lacing our fingers together.

I like the way they fit together. I like the weight of his palm against mine. I like the way my stomach flutters and my core clenches. I like way too freaking much about this man. It's dangerous and addictive. I should pull away, put distance between us…but I don't.

It's like I'm physically incapable of doing it.

"That's a rough way to grow up, unicorn."

"Yeah, it is." I risk a glance up at him to find him staring at me. "I get what it's like to feel alone. I felt that way most of my life. I don't like that you feel that way too." I exhale a breath. "So get your hot ass out of the truck, Whitlock. You're going trick or treating."

A lazy smile curves his lips. "You were looking at my ass, huh?"

I roll my eyes and harumph like a crazy person, which only makes him laugh. I like that sound far more than I like the lines of anxiety around his eyes. It's rusty and gravelly and so damn beautiful. Just like him.

He kills the engine and then reluctantly climbs from the truck before circling around to help me out. As soon as my feet touch the ground, I turn, intending to march up to the front door before I lose my nerve.

I don't even make it two steps before I feel his hand on my waist, spinning me around to face him.

"What…?"

That's as far as I get before I'm in his arms, and his lips are against mine.

He kisses me like a man possessed, hungry and demanding. The feel of his body against mine sets me on fire with desire.

One hand cradles the back of my head. The other presses against the small of my back, molding me against his hard, muscular body. I melt into him, gripping his broad shoulders as I kiss him back, just as hungry, just as demanding.

My head spins as he deepens the kiss, claiming every inch of my mouth as if it belongs to him. I whimper into his mouth, unable to think. Unable to breathe. All I can focus on is the way he holds me like he doesn't ever intend to let me go and the way his scent swirls around me, making me dizzy.

He presses me up against the side of the truck, tipping my head back further as he breaks away from my lips, kissing a trail down the side of my throat. The dichotomy of his beard and his lips against my skin is divine.

"Drake," I gasp, my hands all tangled up in his tuxedo jacket. "This isn't trick or treating."

"Who needs candy when I could eat you instead?" he grunts against my skin. "You're already the sweetest little treat I've ever tasted, unicorn. I want more."

My core clenches hard.

And then he groans, placing a soft kiss against my racing pulse. He rests there for just a moment like he's trying to collect himself before he pulls back. Those icy blue eyes meet mine, blazing like the sun.

"Let's go get your candy, baby. Before the whole goddamn neighborhood sees me deflowering a unicorn against the side of my truck."

I bite my lip and then nod. I kind of want to get to the deflowering part now, though. I knew when I left the masquerade with him that this is where the night would likely end. I decided to leave with him anyway. Not because I thought I owed it to him after grabbing his dick. Not because I didn't have a choice. But because something about him feels…right.

I can't even explain it. But there's something about this man that's utterly irresistible.

Don't you dare fall in love with him, Madeline Dooley , I mentally coach myself. But part of me thinks it may already be too late for that. He's wriggling his way into my heart far too quickly.

How the hell am I supposed to get him out again?

He leans down to scoop up the bag I dropped and then laces our fingers together, gently peeling me off the side of his truck.

"You sure about this?" he asks, eyeing the front of the house like he thinks it might bite him.

"Positive," I say. I am absolutely not positive about this. But YOLO, right? I think that's the saying that means you should do crazy stuff while you have the chance because you could die any day. And it's Halloween in a town full of crazy Halloween-loving people, so that day could very well be today.

He exhales a breath, his face set in grim lines, and reluctantly leads me up the steep steps toward the house. I can't help but giggle.

"You look like you're marching toward the gallows."

"Uh, have you looked around, unicorn? There are body bags hanging in the fucking trees."

"Spiders, too," I mutter.

He chuckles, shooting me a look. "You going to tell me what you have against spiders?"

"You mean besides everything about their existence?"

"They're the most helpful insect."

"They aren't insects. They're arachnids. And they have eight legs, Drake. You don't need eight legs if you're doing God's work."

"So, they're devil spiders. Got it."

"Exactly!" I cry.

He throws his head back, his laughter echoing around us.

"Wondered when you two were going to stop dry humping against the truck and come on up here."

"Ahhh!" I scream, launching myself into Drake's arms as a raspy voice floats out of the dark.

"Jesus Christ, Viola," he growls, catching me as I basically climb his body. I'm pretty sure I use his dick as a stepping stone. My bad.

The raspy voice howls with laughter, and a light flickers on. I peer around Drake to see a frail old lady sitting in a rocking chair tucked into the far corner of the porch.

She has to be at least eighty, with curlers in her hair, wearing nothing but a nightgown, slippers, and a colorful blanket thrown over her lap. And she's laughing so hard that she's in danger of falling out of the chair.

"You scared the shit out of us," Drake mutters without heat, carrying me up the steps to meet her. "You could have told us you were out here."

"What? And ruin my fun? No thanks." The old lady, Viola, cackles. "I've been scaring trick-or-treaters all night." She tips her head to the side, studying us. "You two are the strangest of the lot. A unicorn and an overgrown pain in the ass. Well, at least your costume fits you, boy."

I bury my face in his shoulder, my body shaking with laughter.

"We aren't trick-or-treaters," Drake says patiently, ignoring everything else she said.

"Yes, we are." I poke him in the chest, squirming for him to put me down before I turn to beam at Ms. Viola. "He's being grumpy about it, but you can ignore him. I do."

She cackles again. "Where'd you find this one, boy? I like her. She's got sense if she knows to ignore your surly ass."

Drake sighs heavily. "Madeline Dooley, meet Viola Brinkley. Viola, meet Madeline. Viola has lived here forever. Madeline just moved to town." He leans against a column on the porch.

"And you already snapped her up, huh?" Ms. Viola's hazel eyes gleam. "Good for you. It's about time you put that big ass brain of yours to use for something other than making money, boy." She peers at me. "He won you over, huh?"

"To be determined," I mumble, blushing. "I have to check his basement for bodies first."

He growls at me.

Ms. Viola cackles again. "Hand me that bucket over there, will you, boy?" She nods at a bucket sitting on the railing.

Drake pushes away from the column and grabs it before glancing down at it. "Jesus, Viola. Have you been giving this shit out to trick-or-treaters?"

"Are you daft, boy? The kids get the candy. This is for their parents." She pauses, a tiny smile curving her lips up. "And for big kids who never grew out of trick or treating. Give me the bucket already, and stop testing my patience."

He hands it to her, shaking his head.

I watch, dying to know what's inside, as she fishes around and then pulls out two tiny bottles of alcohol.

"You think you're the first who decided to go trick or treating at your age, Drake Whitlock?" she asks, holding the bottles out to him. "Pah. In this town, it ought to be a tradition by now."

I bite my lip, fighting a smile as he takes the alcohol from her, slipping it into his back pocket.

"Get you some candy, too," she orders him. "And you better not drink that if you're driving that sweet girl around tonight. I may be old, but I'm not too old to stick my foot up your a—"

"I won't drink and drive," Drake rushes to say, cutting her off as he grabs a handful of candy, shoving it into the bag. "Don't stay out here too long. It's getting cold."

"You worry about your damn self, boy. How about that?"

"Yes, ma'am," Drake agrees, practically dragging me down the steps as I laugh like a maniac.

"It was great to meet you, Ms. Viola!" I shout after us.

"Come back and visit anytime, sweet girl! Leave him at home next time, though, will you? He's too bossy."

"Absolutely!" I call.

"I will spank your gorgeous ass if you start hanging out around here," Drake growls, his lips against my ear. "That old lady is a menace."

"You're only saying that because she likes me more than she likes you." I beam up at him, still giggling. "Why doesn't she like you?"

"She treats everyone around here the same way," he mutters. "She doesn't have any family, so the whole town helps keep an eye on her. But as far as she's concerned, we're all still little kids running through her flower beds. She gives us all hell."

"You like her." I beam up at him, still giggling.

He holds his thumb and forefinger an inch apart, a tiny smile dancing at his lips. "I'd love to know where the hell she got a bucket full of alcohol."

"I hope I'm as cool as her when I'm her age," I whisper.

"Baby, if you're anything like her when you're her age, God help us all," he mutters.

I huff, which only makes him smile.

"Get your gorgeous ass in the truck, Madeline."

"What? No. We aren't done trick or treating. You heard what she said. I bet there are other houses prepared for grown trick-or-treaters." I try—and fail—to wiggle my brows at him. "We might score more alcohol."

"Yeah, we're done. You got alcohol and candy." He tips my head back, brushing his lips against mine in a hard kiss. "Now, I'm taking you somewhere."

"To your basement?"

"Nope. Somewhere better."

"You know how ominous that sounds, right?" I ask as he hauls the passenger side of the truck open. "Drake! You know that sounds ominous, right?"

He ignores me. The big jerk.

And somehow, I still find myself eagerly climbing in, willing to follow him just about anywhere.

Lord have mercy. What is this man doing to me?