"Drake, listen to me," I pleaded, my heart hammering like a trapped bird against my ribs. I glanced frantically at the digital clock on the stove—7:22 a.m.
"I have Art History in less than forty minutes! My scholarship is hanging by a thread, my dad's bankruptcy is still breathing down my neck, and I cannot afford a massive, messy distraction right now!"
"I'm not a distraction," Drake growled softly, his smirk vanishing, replaced by a sudden, protective intensity. "I'm the guy who's going to make sure nobody, including your stalker or your drunk cousin, ever messes with you again."
"You can't just claim someone like a trophy after a single night!"
"Then let me prove it to you," Drake said simply. He stood up, his massive frame towering over the island, and reached across to gently cup
