The Fearless King

by Katee Robert

  Getting the next part out was more difficult, the end of the story one that he didn’t want to give voice to, as if he could change the way things happened by not talking about it. Talk about it or not, the past is the past. “She refused treatment. She just…resigned herself to dying. Within six months, she was gone.” He hadn’t found out until a week later that she’d kept current with her old life insurance policy—one that paid out to the tune of two million dollars. She might not have loved Frank enough to fight to live, but she’d loved him enough to ensure he was taken care of after she was gone.

  Cold comfort, that.

  “Jesus.” Journey clenched him to her, as if she could squeeze away his past.

  “It was a long time ago.” Fifteen years, to be exact. It struck him that, in another couple of years, he’d have spent more of his life an orphan than he’d spent with parents. He smoothed a hand down her back. “Come to bed with me, Duchess.”

  She hesitated but finally nodded against his chest. “The only thing to do at this point is call the day to avoid it from getting worse.” Journey stepped back and looked around the kitchen. “It doesn’t seem like the ten plagues of Egypt are going to descend on us, but better safe than sorry.”

  “I don’t know—the day isn’t complete without a bunch of locusts making an appearance.”

  She jerked to a stop. “Did you just…You did.”

  “What?”

  “You just made an honest-to-God joke. Again.” She smiled. “Dang, Frank, I’m going to have to be careful. At this point, I actually like you, and you fuck like a dream. You aren’t a secret duke or something, are you? Because the only way you could be more perfect was if there was a title involved.” She strode away before he could answer, which was just as well. He didn’t know how to respond to that.

  He might look like the full package on paper, but the truth was that Frank was shallow. Barring Beck, his friendships were surface level and wouldn’t withstand any amount of stress. He dated, but the specter of his parents’ relationship hung over his head, a cloud he couldn’t escape. Letting someone close like that, loving them with everything he had…All it did was open a person up for devastation. He chose relationships based on a genuine understanding of what he could and couldn’t give emotionally, and he and his partners usually parted amicably enough as a result.

  There was nothing amicable about the wild feeling in his chest whenever he was in the same room as Journey.

  If today had proven anything, it was that he couldn’t guarantee her safety. Elliott had outmaneuvered Frank once, which meant it was possible he’d manage it again. If he hurt Journey…

  Frank’s chest went tight and his gut churned at the damage Journey might suffer if he didn’t protect her. It made him want to wrap her in a bulletproof suit and ship her off to New York to stay with her mother until he figured out a way through this. To stay safe.

  Because he didn’t know what he’d do if she was harmed.

  He couldn’t afford to let his feelings about her screw with his control, but that ship had sailed. He was self-aware enough to realize that. The only thing he could do was deal with the fallout.

  Frank followed Journey upstairs and found her in the room she’d sent him to earlier. She caught his expression and shrugged. “The family suites are on the other side of the house, and all your stuff is already here. No reason to move.”

  It felt like they’d stepped into a parallel universe as Frank brushed his teeth next to her and they both stripped before climbing into bed. Frank pulled her to him and tucked her against his chest. A heartbeat passed, and then another, and she still stayed rigid in his arms. He smoothed a hand down her spine. “Relax. We both need this after today.”

  “Right, the locusts.” She draped her arm over his chest, and the worst of the tension slowly bled out of her body. “This is weird, right?”

  “This is comfort.”

  “I thought fucking was comfort.”

  He rolled his eyes at her cheeky tone. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

  Her eyes drifted shut, but it was a long time before she fully relaxed and her breathing evened out. Frank lay there and watched her sleep—watched over her while she slept. If he let himself, he could imagine countless nights stretching out before them, all beginning just like this—with Journey asleep and trusting in his arms and with him letting the steady sound of her heartbeat lull his eyes closed. Nights that morphed into mornings and days and back into nights.

  Yeah, if he let himself, he could imagine an entire fucking future with Journey King.

  * * *

  Eliza glanced over her shoulder and shoved her suitcase into the trunk of the car she’d borrowed from Bellamy. She swore she could feel eyes grinding into the space between her shoulder blades, but the street was mostly deserted outside her hotel. Doesn’t matter if my father does have someone watching me. It’s too late to stop me now.

  She slammed the trunk shut and hurried to the driver’s door. She’d booked the last flight out of Houston immediately after that disastrous meeting with Elliott and Anderson. By tomorrow, she’d be safely back in New York and beyond her father’s reach. Marry a stranger for the sake of Kingdom Corp? He’s out of his goddamn mind.

  Her phone rang as she threw the car into gear, and she almost didn’t answer it. But it was Bellamy, and if Eliza owed anyone in the family an explanation, it was her brother. “Hey, B.”

  “Why do you sound like you’re in a car?”

  “Because I am.” She stopped at a red light and checked the time. Not too long now. It’ll be okay. “I’m going back to New York.”

  A pause, like she’d shocked him. “Where are you, Eliza? Just stay there and I’ll come get you.”

  Hurt grew jagged tendrils in her chest. She’d thought that, of all of them, Bellamy would understand that she needed to go. Apparently she was wrong. “I can’t stay. I won’t allow him to turn me into some trophy wife for the sake of a fucking merger.”

  “Goddamn it, you’re not listening to me. I’ll drive you to the airport myself, but it’s not safe. Just pull over. I’m on my way.”

  The light turned green and she pressed the accelerator. “What are you talking about?”

  “Elliott—”

  Movement out of the corner of her eye made her look just as a truck smashed into the side of her sedan. The impact shattered the windshield into a thousand pieces and crumpled the car around her even as the airbag deployed, punching her in the face.

  The last thing Eliza heard was Bellamy yelling her name.

  Chapter Sixteen

  At the end of the best night’s sleep Journey had in six months, she woke up on Frank’s chest. Drooling. Oh my God. It couldn’t get any more awkward—in addition to pushing him to tell her things he obviously didn’t want to last night, now she was doing this.

  She slid back carefully and headed for the bathroom. He still wasn’t awake when she got back, which indicated a level of trust that he’d never admit to aloud. She watched him sleep for a few seconds, but the only thing worse than drooling on a sexy man was getting caught watching him sleep like the ultimate creeper.

  She pulled on a pair of leggings and a tank top and headed down to the kitchen. Journey considered the mess they’d left in the kitchen the night before and grabbed an apron. Might as well make myself useful since I’m up. She tied it around her waist and got to work.

  It took less time than she expected, so she started on a breakfast potpie. A little too complicated to feed two people, but after last night, Journey needed the busy work to keep her from overthinking things.

  Frank knew her ugly truths.

  He knew and he hadn’t turned away from her.

  It really wasn’t that high of a bar to set, but she could count on one hand how many people had cleared it—and still have fingers left over. A lot of fingers. She sighed and finished chopping the potatoes. Next up was grating the sharp cheddar that would seal everything together in the pie in the most deli
cious way possible. Then some bacon and eggs, and it would be ready for the oven.

  She transferred the cheese to a bowl and stared at it for a long moment. Frank had a lot of secrets in his past, too. She’d known some of them—everyone knew what Henry Evans had been convicted of—but his mother’s fate had never made the news. It should have.

  Now she understood more about why Frank operated the way he did. He’d had a taste of what happiness might be, and then life had orchestrated to kick him in the teeth over and over again with the loss of both his parents. No wonder he fought so hard for power—it represented a wall of protection for him and everyone under his care. It ensured he’d never share his parents’ fates. That the people who condemned his father would never get the chance to condemn Frank, that he’d never have to sit idly by while someone he cared about wasted away.

  If she let him, he’d play prince to her damsel in distress, shutting her away while he rode off to fight the dragon.

  She couldn’t let him do it. She wouldn’t let him endanger himself while she sat safe and secure somewhere else.

  Not going to solve any problems staring at this half-made potpie.

  She threw together some homemade crust and had just popped the whole thing into the oven when a floorboard creaked behind her. Journey rose and turned around to find Frank standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He looked just like he had the night before, a little tired, and almost…Hesitant wasn’t the right word. Worried definitely wasn’t, either.

  Cautious.

  As if by stepping into the kitchen—into her space—he might be doing something he couldn’t take back. He crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed her. “If you could see yourself right now, Duchess.”

  She glanced down and winced. Flour streaked the black leggings, and the frilly apron looked absolutely ridiculous. “As difficult as it is to believe, this wasn’t yet another sad attempt at seducing you, Frank. Promise.” Her joke fell flat into the new awareness in the room. She smoothed a hand along the embroidered picture on the apron—bright multicolor flowers. “I’m just going to…go change into something clean.”

  She made it to the doorway, but unless he moved, she’d have to drag her body against his to leave the room, and that just didn’t seem like the best of ideas if she wanted to keep from throwing herself at him yet again. Journey waited…and waited some more. She managed to dredge her gaze up and froze when she caught him staring at her mouth. “Frank?”

  “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. That I wouldn’t go down this path.” He reached out and tugged her apron, loosening the ties around her waist and causing the fabric to sag. He hooked his big hands into the fabric of her tank top. “Tell me to stop.”

  There was only one of them capable of putting the brakes on this situation—and it wasn’t her. She licked her lips, and he cursed when he noticed the movement. Journey lifted her arms and held her breath as he tugged her shirt off. She shimmied out of her leggings and kicked them in the opposite direction of the oven. The move left her naked but for the apron tied around her waist. So much for playing hard to get.

  All the while, he watched her. Waiting for permission. God, didn’t he know by now that she was a sure thing where he was concerned? Journey caught his wrist and pulled him toward her as she backed into the counter. “I don’t want you to stop.”

  He was on her instantly, claiming her mouth as he lifted her so she could wrap her legs around his waist. Frank took three steps and set her on the counter, sending up a cloud of flour. He shoved her apron up, twisting it around her body so it covered absolutely nothing, but he didn’t take it off. “You look like a wet dream, Duchess. I never figured I’d go for the Betty Crocker bullshit, but waking up and coming downstairs to see you bending over, that tight little ass framed by the apron’s bow?” He pushed two fingers into her and grasped the back of her neck with his free hand, bending her over the counter. His kissed the curve of first one breast and then the other. “How’s a man supposed to keep his head with you looking like this? Feeling like this.” He pushed a third finger into her as if demonstrating his point.

  It took two tries to get her voice under control. “Is that a trick question?”

  He circled her clit with his thumb, his dark eyes stormy. “Does it sound like a fucking trick question?”

  Got you riled, didn’t I? His earlier words came back to her. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. If Journey had a little more pride, she’d shove him away and tell him to come back around when he actually chose this. Chose her.

  It would never happen. She knew Frank well enough now to know that.

  She should tell him that she didn’t want scraps at his table. That she deserved better than that.

  Instead, she gripped his shoulders and gave herself over to everything he did to her. The rough rasp of his stubble against her breasts, his fingers working her, his muttered curses against her skin…It washed away everything except the here and now. Nothing else mattered but the pressure already building inside her, a pleasure Frank seemed to draw out without even trying. If she let him, he’d bring her to orgasm several times and then he’d take his pleasure.

  No.

  No fucking way.

  If she was going over this edge, they were going over it together. She reached blindly into the drawer to her left, scrambling until her fingers grazed a familiar foil packet. Journey yanked it out and tore it open.

  Frank narrowed his eyes. “Did you just pull a condom out of your kitchen drawer?”

  “Yes.” She shoved his pants down and gave his cock a single stroke before she rolled it on.

  “I’m going to need you to explain that magic trick.”

  “No magic.” She kissed his shoulder, his neck, his jaw. “My family hasn’t come out here for a ‘family’ vacation in about a decade, and Mother prefers Europe to something so pedestrian as the Hamptons. So in the past, we’ve partied here, and it pays to have protection within easy reach because alcohol is killer on self-control.”

  He might as well have been a statue for all he moved, his fingers still speared deep within her. “Did you fuck a lot of boys here, Duchess? Let them lift you onto the kitchen counter like I am now?” The growl in his voice made her nipples pebble almost painfully.

  Frank Evans was jealous.

  She hid her grin, enjoying the fluttering feeling in her chest entirely too much. “I prefer to fuck behind closed doors under normal circumstances.” She let go of him and leaned back to prop her hands on the counter behind her, well aware of the wanton picture she painted. Her apron strings tangled between her breasts, and the rest of it was in a ball against her side, leaving her pussy exposed as well, his fingers still inside her. “Though I’m considering changing my policy. This is sexy as hell.”

  “Fuck. That.” He pulled his fingers out of her, but she barely had a chance to mourn the loss when his cock was there, shoving into her roughly.

  She laughed. She couldn’t help it. He looked so damn furious, the temptation to keep screwing with him was too much to ignore. He deserved it after that bullshit comment about not wanting this. Journey pressed hard against the hand he still had clasped around the back of her neck. “Do you think the boys would like this, Frank? Because I sure as hell do.”

  He looped an arm around her waist and yanked her almost off the counter. “No one else, Duchess.” He fisted the front of her apron, using it as leverage to fuck her harder.

  “Or what?” He slammed into her, grinding them together, and she bit back a moan. It would be easy to just give in, to let him steamroll her. He’d made it so good for her…and then she’d fling herself right back into uncertainty afterward. If Frank felt enough to be jealous, then he was in just as deep as she was.

  And, damn it, she wanted him to admit it.

  Journey reached up and hooked the back of his neck, mirroring the way he held her. She arched up so she could whisper in his ear. “Or what, Frank? From where I’m sitting, all you’ve done is tell me how
much you don’t want this—don’t want me. You don’t do complicated and you don’t do broken, and we both know I’m both.” She hitched a breath, her breasts rubbing against his chest. “I might forget my pride when I’m around you, but there’s only so long I’m going to beat my head against this particular wall. This might be the last time, it might not be, but eventually I will move on to someone who actually wants me.” She nipped his earlobe. “And when I do, I’m going to ride his cock until he sees stars and worships the ground I walk on.”

  He leaned back. On anyone else, his expression would be called a grin, but Journey knew better. It was a warning, the same way a wild animal flashed its teeth before it attacked. “You’ll be bored within a week, and you’ll break the poor fuck’s heart in the process.”

  She went to smack him, but he caught her wrist easily—and then captured her other one to pin them both against the small of her back. This hadn’t been what she intended when she baited him, but she was in too deep to go back now. “Yeah, well, that’s my choice.”

  “Wrong, Duchess. I’m your choice and you damn well know it.” He rolled his hips, rubbing against the spot on her inner wall that drew a whimper from her lips. “It makes you crazy that you want me.” Frank lifted her, keeping her wrists pinned, and walked Journey to the dining room table they’d eaten at the night before. He shoved the centerpiece out of the way and laid her onto the cool wood. “About as crazy as it makes me wanting you.” He withdrew from her, and the sound of a chair scraping over the hardwood floor was the only warning she got before he sat at the head of the table—right between her spread thighs.

  * * *

  Frank took out all of his frustration on Journey’s pussy. He fucked her with his tongue the way he needed to fuck her with his cock. He wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what she was trying to pull with that little stunt with the condom and throwing the idea of other men in his face. It didn’t matter if the idea of her with someone else drove him out of his fucking mind. It couldn’t matter. He liked her entirely too much, a sensation that undermined his control simply by breathing the same air as her.