by Katee Robert
Frank joined her on the couch, but he kept the middle cushion between them. It was just as well. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if he touched her now. Her demons rode her too hard, and Journey didn’t trust herself one way or another. She was just as liable to jump him as she was to lash out.
She cleared her throat. “It’s one of the Bancrofts pulling his strings if he’s not here for a smash-and-grab. If he’s got any loyalty, it’s to his family.”
“They’re your family, too.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I mean, technically, yes, Elliott Bancroft is my father and he’s a Bancroft and therefore my siblings and I are, too. But Mother drew her line in the sand when she gave us the King name.” Journey gave a faint smile. “You can’t be loyal to two masters. I’m a King.”
Those dark eyes showed nothing. “It’s possible the Bancroft family wants Kingdom Corp, and they’re utilizing Elliott to do it since they obviously don’t believe you and your siblings will fall in line. It’s equally possible that Elliott has gotten tired of dancing to the tune his family has set and wants his own kingdom to rule, so to speak. Either way, we’ll figure it out.”
It sounded so simple when he put it like that. Hope unfurled cautious wings in her chest. “You really think we can win.” He was the one who helped Beckett prevail against her mother, so there was no reason to think Frank couldn’t pull this off, too. It just seemed too good to be true.
“I wouldn’t have agreed to do this if I didn’t.”
She had the insane desire to throw her arms around him and hug him for all she was worth, but Journey managed to resist the impulse. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, Duchess. I’m not doing this for charity.”
The reminder killed her good mood, though she fought to keep that truth off her face. “Right. Of course.” She and Frank weren’t friends—fake relationship, business deal, and one outstanding orgasm aside—and she couldn’t afford to forget that. The only reason he’d agreed to help her was because he got something out of it. In all the chaos and emotional spiraling she’d done in the last few days, she’d lost sight of that along the way.
If you forget again, the damage your father can do to you will be nothing against the pain Frank Evans can cause.
* * *
Frank woke to the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside his room. In a single move, he was up with the shotgun he had stashed in the holster beneath the bed. No time to throw on clothes—not with the footsteps heading toward Journey’s guest room—so he threw open the door and rushed into the hallway.
“Holy shit!”
He had the presence of mind to point the damn gun at the floor, but Frank’s thoughts flowed sluggishly as he tried to reconcile the fact that there was no intruder. It was Journey. She stood in the middle of his hallway, her hands up in a defensive gesture, wearing only his T-shirt and nothing else. He blinked, but the image didn’t morph itself into something more realistic. “What are you doing out here?”
“I…” She slowly dropped her hands to wrap around her body. The move pressed the white fabric against her breasts and, even in the low light, their curve was clearly defined. Journey’s gaze dropped to the level of his hips and then shot back to his face. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Then read a fucking book, Duchess. I could have shot you.”
She edged closer, stepping into the moonlight spilling from the window at the end of the hallway. He took in the purple smudges beneath her eyes and the way her hands shook despite her relatively calm voice. She’s terrified. Frank cursed himself for not realizing it before. He set the gun on a side table and held up his hands. “That came out wrong. I wasn’t going to shoot you. You were never in any danger.” She had enough shit to worry about without thinking he’d mistakenly put a round of buckshot into her chest.
Journey glanced at where he’d set the gun and then took another step closer. “You ran out of your bedroom door like you were about to face down an enemy.” A small smile pulled at the edges of her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “If I wasn’t ninety percent sure that it wasn’t directed at me, the look on your face would have made me pee my pants in fear.”
“I heard someone walking in the direction of your room and reacted.” He didn’t even stop to consider lying. Frank shook his head. Shouldn’t have handed her that piece of information.
Journey, true to form, seemed to chew on his statement. “Would you have shot if it was an intruder?”
“You already know the answer to that question.” In other circumstances, he would have hesitated. Frank was more than capable of handling himself in a fight, and it was easier to get the police on his side if he didn’t murder someone in his house. Handing potential ammunition to enemies wasn’t how he rolled—shooting an intruder would do exactly that.
But he’d also never had anyone under this roof but himself.
He could chalk up his over-the-top reaction to another person’s presence, but the truth lay in a different direction. Journey had every single protective urge he possessed standing at attention and clamoring for him to step between her and whatever danger arose.
To do whatever it took to ensure she walked away from this situation as unscathed as possible.
“Frank.”
He blinked, cursing himself for musing while they were in the middle of a conversation. “Yeah?”
“You’re naked.”
He bit back a response that could only be termed an invitation. Whatever Journey King needed, it wasn’t him adding to her stress by throwing sex into the mix. His losing control at the club was a onetime thing—it had to be. Frank didn’t like how easily she’d slid past his tried-and-true defenses and incited an inferno inside him.
One only she seemed to be able to quench.
“Give me two minutes.” He grabbed the shotgun from the side table and stalked into his room. After safely stashing it beneath the bed, he pulled on a pair of lounge pants and headed back into the hallway.
Journey stood exactly where he’d left her, a strange expression on her face. She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
The darkness lent a certain intimacy to their low conversation that he didn’t know what to do with. Frank shifted closer. Mindful of her violent reaction last time he’d tried to comfort her, he kept his damn hands to himself. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to trace the shadows beneath her eyes with his thumbs, to do something to ease the pain she obviously carried deep inside her. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
“That’s a quaint little saying.” She huffed out a laugh. “It doesn’t mean shit. I’m a mess and we both know it.” She lifted a shaking hand and tucked her hair behind her ear. “No matter how good your plan is, I can’t guarantee I won’t fold at the most inopportune moment. It seems to be what I’m good at.”
“Stop.” He grabbed her wrist and tugged her hand away from her face. “Self-pity doesn’t look good on you, Duchess.”
“Is it self-pity if it’s the truth?” She spoke so softly, he wouldn’t have heard it anywhere else but in the silence of the space between them.
He tugged her wrist. “Come here.” It had to be lack of sleep, but he just wanted to hug her until all her broken pieces fused together again. Frank knew better than to think he could heal another person. He’d learned the hard way that trying only brought sorrow and pain.
She shook her head. “No, I can’t.” Journey jerked her hand out of his grasp, but didn’t retreat. She stared up at him, her hazel eyes too large on her face. “I want to. Fuck, Frank, even if it’s a lie, I want you to hold me right now. I just…I can’t.”
Frank weighed the sentence against his interactions up to this point. There was something there, something he was missing, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. If he had a brain in his head, he’d go back to bed and leave her to her midnight wanderings. So what if she’d be wasted and worthless tomorrow after a night spen
t among her demons? It wasn’t his fucking problem.
I made it my problem when I set the terms of this bargain.
Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night.
“What do you need from me?”
For the first time since he reappeared in the hallway, she dropped her gaze. “Nothing you’re willing to give.”
Frustration raked at him. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t willing.” He could have followed it up with so many things, but he kept his damn mouth shut. Journey didn’t need him preaching at her about learning to accept help. She had accepted help, but he was the one shoehorning his way into other parts of her life. It wasn’t his job to take care of her if she wouldn’t take care of herself, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck.
“What happened in your office…” She cursed. “You know what? Forget I said anything. I’m already pathetic enough without throwing a pity fuck into the mix.”
Frank rocked back on his heels. “We already established that I don’t pity fuck, Duchess.”
“Like I said—forget I lost my mind enough to say anything at all.” She drew herself up until he was almost fooled that she’d actually shrugged off the entirety of the day and this conversation. “I’m going to go to bed.”
“Journey.” He waited for her to turn to face him before continuing. She looked so…small…standing there with her arms wrapped around herself wearing only his shirt. Breakable. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. “Would it help? Or is it just another form of harm?” He might want her, but he refused to be the cane she beat herself with.
She turned to look out the window, her words falling as softly as snow between them. “In the office was the first time I felt like me in months. You grounded me, Frank. With your hands on me, there was no past or future, and your mouth on my skin silenced every single skeleton rattling in my closet—at least for the moment. I don’t regret what we did at all, and I know it doesn’t make sense but—”
He couldn’t have resisted Journey if he’d tried, and he didn’t bother to try. Frank clasped the back of her neck and turned her to face him. “Let’s make one thing clear.”
“Just one?” Her faint smile actually reached her eyes this time.
“For now.” He massaged the tense muscles in her neck, making sure to keep his grip firm. “There’s no going back if you choose this. It’s all or nothing.”
She stared at his mouth but made no move to touch him. “I don’t like being penned in, Frank.” Journey dragged her gaze up to meet his. “Even if I did, you don’t know me well enough to demand all or nothing.”
He could lay it out there, could tell her that he’d had his eye on her since the first time they met several years ago. It had never gone further than that solely because she was a King and Frank had enough enemies without borrowing hers as well. And there had been Beckett to consider. Hooking up with a member of Beck’s estranged family would be a slap in the face to their friendship, and no sex was worth damaging that relationship. Not to Frank.
Things changed.
He wasn’t willing to take a leap based on a couple of days’ worth of up-close and personal interactions, but the deeper Frank delved into the maze that was Journey, the more he wanted to get to the heart of her. It wasn’t smart.
In fact, it was downright dangerous.
He tightened his grip on her neck, enjoying the way she gasped and arched her back, instinctively offering her breasts to him. “I know enough, Duchess. Choose. All or nothing.”
Still, she hesitated. “I need it like it was before. Rough and right there in the moment.” Her hazel eyes begged him not to ask any further questions.
He had questions, no matter that her issues weren’t his business. The questions could wait—would probably wait forever. The tension in Journey’s body spoke of a woman anticipating a blow, expecting him to tell her that what she wanted was fucked and to demand to know what had happened to her to make this her version of comfort.
Frank didn’t say a damn thing. It wasn’t his place to judge. Her needs matched his. What more was there to say?
A whole hell of a lot.
He took a slow breath, drawing oxygen deep into his lungs and releasing his anger on the exhale. This wasn’t about him. This was about her, about giving her a safe space in the only way she’d accept from him. For now. He wanted one thing he had no business wanting—her trust.
“I know, Duchess,” he repeated. Trust me. Words he couldn’t say because they would only ensure she would end this here and now, and that was something Frank refused to have happen. He might have rather started things between them when the world wasn’t about to fall on their heads, but he’d learned to roll with the punches and make the best of any situation.
She swayed, leaning hard against his hand. “I’m in, Frank. Don’t make me regret it.”
Regret was the one thing he wouldn’t allow between them. Which was why Frank kissed her hard. He took her mouth, reacquainting himself with the taste of her even as she went soft against his chest. She tasted like heaven, and he would have given his left arm in that moment to be able to take this where they both wanted it to go.
But not tonight.
Not like this.
Frank scooped her into his arms and strode for the guest bedroom. He kept a stranglehold on his control even as Journey kissed his shoulder, his neck, his jaw. Only the knowledge that he’d lose her for good if he let this happen tonight had him lowering her to her feet and kissing her again.
And then he stepped back. “Good night, Duchess.”
Journey blinked. “But you just said…” Shock bled into something akin to hurt. “I see.”
“I don’t think that you do.” Frank clasped her chin in an unyielding grip. “What happened today fucked with you, Journey. You’re on the ropes and you don’t know which way is up, and I’m not such a bastard that I’ll jump into your bed while you can’t give consent.”
“I did give consent, asshole.”
“Yeah, you did.” He leaned down and captured her bottom lip between his teeth, biting just hard enough to taste her gasp. “And I fully intend to take you up on it…but not this weekend.” He forced himself to release her and step back.
He walked to the small bookshelf on the other side of the room. Every bedroom in the house had a selection of books he’d curated. Frank grabbed one at random and settled into the high-backed chair next to the shelf. He flicked on the light. “Sleep. Relax. No one is going to touch you this weekend—not even me. You’re safe here.”
Journey stared. “What are you doing?”
He held up the book. “I’m no professional audiobook narrator, but I’m more than capable of reading aloud.” He read the title and sighed. “Pride and Prejudice makes for a good bedtime story, I guess.”
She blinked a few times and then shook her head. “You might as well sit on the bed.” She made a face. “I promise not to endanger your virtue.”
It was a bad idea, but he recognized the stubborn look on her face. This wouldn’t be a battle he’d win if he wanted to stay in the room. He waited for her to climb under the covers, and then walked over and gingerly sat on top of the comforter. He opened the book, but Journey laughed softly. “I have a better idea.” She twisted to grab her phone off the nightstand and pulled up an audiobook app. She hesitated, her finger hovering over the screen. “You said no one is going to touch me this weekend. What happens after this weekend?”
Frank settled back against the pillows and gave a tight smile. “After this weekend, all bets are off.”
She lay down and pulled the covers up to her chin, leaving only her arm out. “I don’t know if I thanked you for riding to my rescue but…thank you. You’re going above and beyond the call of duty.”
He didn’t want her gratitude. “Start your book and close your eyes, Duchess. I’m here.”
“Frank…”
He reached out, pushed the button to start the book, and laced his fingers
through hers. She went tense at the contact, but the stiffness melted out of her body as the soothing tones of a woman who started talking about a trio of witches in a small town in Oregon. Frank kept a hold of Journey’s hand as her breathing evened out and, within ten minutes, she was asleep.
He should have disengaged his hand and left the room then. Sex was one thing, but comfort was something completely different. It could lead to far deadlier emotions, and he knew better than to fall into that trap, even for a woman as engaging as Journey King.
He didn’t release her hand.
He didn’t leave the room.
He closed his eyes and let the story sweep him away. It was only for a little while, after all.
Chapter Eight
Frank dropped off Journey outside her place before the sun was fully above the horizon on Monday morning. “If you need anything between now and tomorrow, call me.”
She didn’t quite meet his gaze, just like she hadn’t since Saturday night. “Thanks, Frank. I’ll see you later.” She made it two steps from the car and turned on her heel, her hair fanning out around her with the abruptness of the move. She ducked back into the car and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Seriously. Thank you.” And then she was gone, disappearing into the doors in record time.
Frank shook his head and threw the car into gear, heading for his office. He’d put a lot of plans into motion over the years, but there was no way to anticipate Journey King. The mix of bristling hurt and sweetness never failed to surprise him, though she didn’t seem to realize that there was a molten strength beneath it all. It wasn’t his job to educate her—some people went their entire lives without allowing themselves to be forged into something new.
Remember that. Not my fucking job.
The building was quieter than he expected for a Monday morning, even as early as it was. He walked into his second-in-command’s office and knocked on the doorjamb. Mateo turned away from his desk and nodded in greeting. He was a small Mexican man Frank had hired eight years ago. At the time, Mateo had debt collectors knocking down his door and a baby on the way. A mutual friend of theirs had pointed Frank in his direction, and neither of them had cause to regret that decision in the years since. Mateo’s skills as a former Green Beret combined with a master’s degree in business administration helped give Evans Inc a massive edge.