“How much is it worth to you?” Mal blinked, but the vision before him didn’t disappear. Drake had always been beautiful. Eyes blue as cornflowers, a smile that could melt the heart of a statue, and the way he moved that lean body — like a cat that tempted you to stroke it before sinking in its claws. In this moment, he wasn’t beautiful. He was wicked. Drake leaned back against the wall, one foot propped behind him, hands casually braced in his pockets and his hips tilted subtly forward in a way that would have had the whores who flocked the back rooms of the gaming hell they’d just left scurrying to take notes. Mal stood perfectly straight and unmoving, hoping his tongue was still inside his mouth and his cockstand not too apparent. “I beg your pardon?” Drake raised one perfectly arched br
