Free Temptress by Lola Dodge

to Tank’s Ferrari. Not even close.
    Minder was the problem. “You tell me,” he said, opening his mind.
    I slipped deeper into his head, but not his own thoughts. Memories he’d read from someone else.
    From Drake.
    Drake sprawled on a leather sofa with a bowl of popcorn. He was sculpted and sexy, but something more than the frosted tips irritated me. His attitude. That kind of arrogance looked cheap compared to Tank’s cool confidence. I’d never touch a guy like that.
    But then I walked into the memory.
    It was Jenny, the college years. A little thinner, a little less worn around the edges, and wearing a lacy red negligee I’d burned ages ago. No man was worth that much itching.
    Drake set the popcorn aside and swept me onto his lap. His tongue was halfway down my throat before the vision caught up with the current me.
    What the fuck?
    I’d never seen Drake before. Never done this. Didn’t even know where it was happening.
    But never didn’t mean as much as it used to.
    I’d been played. Minder didn’t have the power to fake this shit, and I’d said myself that Drake’s voice sounded familiar.
    How?
    What was Drake’s power that he could do this? And what else had we done together? The three years between nineteen and twenty-one were starting to seem less like a blur and more like an abyss of secrets and lies.
    “Jenny.”
    My shoulders shook.
    “Jenny!” Tank was an inch from my face, his eyes worried.
    I felt cold, spirit and body.
    Body?
    I looked down. Ice crusted my arms and legs, cementing me to the chair as it spread around my feet. That wasn’t good.
    My skin burned where the ice had left me, and I took a deep breath as I tried to reclaim my center. The power pulled back, but my chakras were shot to shit. I’d never spilled like this before. If I didn’t anchor myself to reality, I’d go ballistic and take half the city down with me.
    Tank hovered, and I couldn’t help myself. I slipped my arms around his shoulders and buried my face in his shirt. He smelled like the Polo I used as pillow spray, and his solid reassurance beat back some of the gaping doubt. For now. “Can we get out of here?”
    “We better.” Tank shifted his grip and strode over the pulverized door. I bit back a pleased grin. He’d totally done that for me.
    “Jenny.” The chief stepped in front of us. “Did you get anything we can use?”
    “Drake’s the mastermind. Those two are flunkies.” I’d seen that much. Chance and Minder did the dirty work, but they weren’t in on the grand plan. We needed Drake and Deena. “Call Verity and get a trial set up.”
    I tugged Tank’s shirt. He sighed and carried me from the room. Just before we exited the building, he set me on my feet. For once, I wouldn’t have minded if he kept it up. “Thanks. That was….” I shivered.
    “What did you see?” Tank asked.
    “Don’t want to talk about it.” I still wasn’t sure if I could trust myself.
    “Dinner,” Tank said. “Hibachi?”
    “Yes.” I liked the way his mind worked. Fried rice would make everything better.
    A cab ride and a wink to the host later, we sat at a private griddle-top table at Caesar’s. We ordered sake and split the deluxe surf and turf. I got my seafood, Tank got his filet mignon. It was amazing. The last guy I’d dated couldn’t stand Japanese food.
    Wait. Dated?
    I almost choked on a scallop. We were not dating. Even if we were, it was too smooth. Tank didn’t grill me for information I wouldn’t give him. He didn’t pry. All he did was pass pieces of his steak onto my plate. He ordered dessert, but slid the cake across to me after two bites, insisting I finish the mountain of chocolate and whipped cream.
    How could I argue with that?
    Tension filled the air on the elevator up to my penthouse, but I wasn’t sure what kind. Tank stood so close I could feel his body heat, but he kept his hands to himself. Was this like a first date? Was I going to have to kiss him at the front