Seduced by Sin (Unlikely Hero)

by Kris Rafferty

  Caleb lifted his brows, waiting on her father’s decision. “We have a deal?” Her father studied Caleb for another moment and then nodded. “Senator Plimpton, this is Smith. I have Jonathan Hamilton here, and I’m asking you to speak with him and hear him out.” Caleb handed the phone to her father, who dropped her arm to take it. She caught herself before she released a loud, relieved sigh, because it would have been embarrassing, and her father would have noticed.

  “Senator?” Her father’s tone suggested he wasn’t positive Caleb was on the up and up, but when his body relaxed and a smile creased his face, Francesca smiled also. She sidled up to Caleb.

  “Well played,” she whispered in his ear. “You impressed him.” And her. It was no small feat to have a senator’s private line on speed dial. Caleb kept his gaze on her father as he strode through his milling guests. Francesca had no doubt her father headed for his office, seeking privacy.

  “Let’s hope so,” Caleb said. “Favors are currency and that call was expensive.”

  “You remind me of my father.” Caleb was definitely a wheeler and a dealer.

  He threaded his fingers through hers, but he wasn’t smiling. “Do I?”

  She got the impression that Caleb was telling her something, but she didn’t know him well enough to figure out the message. Was it a warning that he wasn’t the type to bring home to Mother? No kidding. Francesca only attracted unavailable men; they were moths to her flame, bees to her honey. Normally, she tried to walk the other way, but there was something about Caleb. He made her happy just by standing next to him. She wanted to know him…and then there was the whole sex thing. She really wanted to kiss him, but at the moment, he seemed more interested in her father’s progress crossing the ballroom with his security entourage.

  “He has your phone,” she said. So that probably meant a lot of waiting around to get it back. Her father’s phone calls could last hours.

  “It’s a burner.” Caleb smiled like he’d dropped a punchline.

  “Burner?” She didn’t get it.

  “Disposable. He can keep it. We’ve bought maybe twenty minutes with that call.” He winked. “Let’s go.”

  Go? Francesca told herself not to freak out. This was what she’d wanted, right? Right? She’d agreed to it, even said “after” they spoke with her father. So why was she so nervous? Even as she asked herself the question, the answer was obvious. Caleb was out of her league.

  He led her through the ballroom in the opposite direction of her father. People noticed. But Caleb was so casual about their getaway that after a few smiles and waves, they garnered no more than a few curious stares. Once they’d exited the ballroom, he led her down the hall, past the foyer, and into the mansion’s main residence. She immediately thought he was looking for a spare bedroom and was horrified in an excited, shocked, and aroused sort of way. There were video monitors in every hall, so security was watching them and would know, or at least figure out what she and Caleb were about. It would get back to her father, and no, that wasn’t enough to prompt her to bail on this adventure, but it was daunting.

  When Caleb stopped in front of the mansion’s solarium, her shoulders relaxed and she laughed. “You’re brilliant!”

  He’d found just the place. The solarium would give them the perfect, and respectable, excuse to leave the party. Visiting the solarium had nothing to do with taking off clothes, it was a showplace, and of course, Caleb would want to see it. If asked, Francesca could list her father’s many award-winning exotic flowers and plant collections, and how Caleb had been impressed by them all. And she couldn’t help thinking the room’s glass ceiling would blanket them with starlight as she had her first kiss…with Caleb Smith.

  They turned their backs on the security camera zooming in on them as she punched the security code into the lock. Then Caleb held the door open for her. Francesca walked through onto the cement flooring and activated the lights—small-wattage bulbs aimed at especially valuable plants, and the placards that described their significance—but she kept the main lights off. She wanted to be able to see the stars.

  The door clicked closed, locking them in.

  This is it. Her fantasy come true, and it was exciting, overwhelming, and now that she had him alone and willing, she didn’t know what to do with him. She clasped her hands at her waist, hoping her inadequacy wasn’t glaringly obvious.

  Though his expression was in shadow, his body language spoke volumes. Hands splayed, hanging at his sides, he seemed poised to spring at her. “Tell me I’m not crazy.” He seemed to force the words past his damaged throat, quietly, with restraint. After the noise of the party, his tone was seductively intimate in the silence of the solarium. “Tell me you’re feeling this, too.”

  She was feeling lots of things…anxious, unsteady, and she didn’t know how much she could reveal without looking foolish. His touch in the ballroom made her feel things she’d never felt before. On a roller coaster, on the dance floor, maybe on her third martini, sure, but never as she found herself staring into a man’s eyes. He wasn’t touching her now, though, and her courage was failing. “You’re not crazy.”

  It took him two strides to reach her, and in the space of a heartbeat, his hands were on her lower back, just gently resting there. He kept his intense gaze on her face, as if waiting for a sign or something…she didn’t know, and it was freaking her out. So she lifted her hands and held them near his lapels, probably taking too long to find the courage to rest them on his hard, broad chest, but she did it, and released a sigh she hadn’t known she’d been holding.

  He was solid, strong enough to break her, and there was an energy to him that hinted at danger…yet he held her with such care she felt safe.

  Inching closer, her thin soled shoes scraping against the cement flooring, she wondered what he was waiting for. She was forced to stop when her belly touched his, but then she found the courage to tilt her chin up and meet his gaze. Whatever he saw in her eyes had him lowering his head and giving her a gossamer-light kiss. It was their “first” kiss that she’d fantasized excessively about, yet in all those fantasies, she’d never imagined such…tenderness.

  It gave her courage to relax her lips and open them. He didn’t hesitate to take advantage of her invitation.

  His tongue was warm, his kiss confident as he swept it into her mouth. Then he drew her tongue into his with a teasing flick of his own, securing his possession of her by sealing their lips, and masterfully executing the kiss until she was blinded to everything but it. He gently caressed her satin-clad buttocks, cupping the cheeks, playing with their weight. When he pulled her closer, rocking his hips, she gasped as his erection pressed against her hips. It shocked her, had her widening her stance, trying to position it at the apex of her thighs. She trembled, gasping when she succeeded.

  Francesca was feeling things she’d never felt before…and she wanted more of it. Wrapping her arms around his neck, crushing her breasts to his hardness, she wiggled against him. His moan, quiet, as if it escaped from deep in his throat, undid her…overwhelmed her…and the kiss…the kiss melted her hesitancy, rid her of fear, and left only pleasure in its wake.

  Then he inched the hem of her dress up, exposing her panty-clad bottom to the solarium’s cool air. She trembled, stilled by the possibilities of his next caress. Inhaling became easier than exhaling, and he seemed to notice her distraction. His kisses grew bolder, more demanding. Her hands couldn’t get enough of touching him, combing through his hair, angling his head to deepen the kiss. Then she was slipping her hands under his suit jacket, exploring his warm, rippling muscles, even as he gently moved his hips against hers, promising more pleasure, promising…more.

  As he continued with his masterful kiss, around and around, his palms circled the curve of her panty-clad bottom, gently exploring its cleft, squeezing her cheeks, as he pressed his arousal to her softness with slow moving thrusts. Caleb had her dissolving with want.

  She broke their kiss, needing to tell him s
he was desperate for…something. Only to have him drop his mouth to the hollow of her neck, gently bite down, and send a shock of pure arousal directly to her groin. The impact on her senses had her knees buckling, him catching her, and he never stopping nuzzling.

  She finally understood how a woman could swoon from a kiss. Her eyelids fluttered, and it was hard to catch her breath. By the time his fingertips worked her panties down, nudging the elastic so it slipped to the underside of her buttocks, she was panting. His hot hand caressed bare skin, so close to her wet heat, and she wanted…she wanted…what Francesca wanted had her crashing back to reality, breaking their kiss. She missed the contact immediately, but he was a stranger. A sexy beast of a stranger, but a stranger.

  And she was moments from begging him to fuck her in her father’s solarium.

  She cupped his cheeks, staring fervently into his eyes. “Caleb Smith.” Out of breath, draped on his powerful chest, weak with arousal, she gasped. “Am I safe with you?”

  His hands stilled, hot brands against her bottom. “I can’t promise you safe.” He pressed a hand over her heart, his eyes afire with emotion. “But I’ll protect you, Francesca. That, I can promise.”

  It sounded like a vow, and shook her, because it wasn’t what she’d expected. This was fantasy. This was sex. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from him—maybe a glib remark designed to lighten this shatteringly intimate moment—but not what she got. Words failed her, so she wrapped her arms about his neck, and sealed his vow with a kiss…a glorious, deep, sensuous kiss. Grateful to be alive.

  Now Caleb broke the kiss. “Fuck.” Teeth bared, his gaze was savage with frustration. “Someone’s unlocking the door.”

  Francesca blinked, heard it, the beeps of the electronic lock. She froze. Caleb righted her displaced panties, adjusted her dress, fixed her hair, and wiped his thumb along her lips in the space of time it took her to realize she was about to be seen by someone other than the man who was rocking her world.

  “You good?” he said, holding her steady.

  She was swollen with arousal, wet between her legs, and desperate. Wiggling was her only recourse. “You’ve ruined me for other men.”

  “It’s only fair. You’ve crippled me.” He adjusted his beautiful arousal. “How much Chanel am I wearing?”

  She glanced at his mouth and wiped off smears of Rouge Coco. “Most of it. How did you know it was Chanel?”

  He winked, smiling. “That’s a tale for another day.”

  “Hmm.” He was right. She had other concerns, because whoever was on the other side of that door would tell her father what they’d been doing. There would be insinuations that Caleb was using her, couldn’t possibly want her when other, more attractive women were available, prettier, richer, more savvy women at the party. Her father’s words would hurt and ruin the fantasy she’d built around Caleb, forcing her to see herself through her father’s eyes. Or worse, force Caleb to see Francesca through her father’s eyes.

  The lock clicked, and the door swung open. Brent Levine. He was glaring, glancing between her and Caleb, and then he settled his gaze on Francesca’s swollen lips.

  “Hello, Brent,” Francesca said. “I was showing Caleb my father’s plant collection.”

  Brent pursed his lips and sent Caleb a particularly vitriolic glare. “He wants to see you both. In his office.” He made it sound as if they were in grade school and being marched to the principal. Embarrassed, Francesca rushed past.

  Caleb caught up to her near the service corridors that led to the kitchens. He snagged two drinks from a passing waiter’s tray, and handed her one, whispering in her ear, “It’s a prop. Just hold it. Don’t drink.” Then he held out the crook of his arm, smiling as she tucked her hand there.

  “Why?” Eyeing the martini, she thought she could use the liquid courage.

  Caleb winked. “Because sooner or later this meeting will be over, and I don’t want you drunk.”

  With a spring in her step, she walked with Caleb down the hall, past the residence entry, and into the foyer. When they reached her father’s office, she could hear the party still going strong in the ballroom. Caleb opened the office door and waited for her to enter. Francesca stepped into her father’s office with a smile on her face.

  “Father.” She took a deep breath, trying to hide her happiness.

  He ignored her greeting, remaining seated at his desk. He did not ignore Caleb, but rather glared at him. Harris Tate, to her father’s left, also glared at Caleb, and when Brent closed the office door, he moved to her father’s right and also glared at Caleb. Three other security guards were stationed in the room. Two were her regular bodyguards, Walter and Ralph, and what the hell? They were also glaring at Caleb.

  For his part, Caleb, the object of so much animosity, seemed unmoved by the hostility. He set his drink down on a side table, untouched, and held her father’s gaze. She admired Caleb for his strength of will. It said something about a man when faced with such negativity to not allow it to bother him. What had Caleb said? He didn’t care what others thought, because to care gave them power over you. Her smile widened.

  She had much to learn from Caleb Smith. In the last fifteen minutes alone, she’d learned a whole host of things. She brought her drink to her lips, then hesitated, lowering it again without sipping. Soon, she thought, this meeting would end…and she didn’t want to be drunk.

  Chapter Three

  The moment Caleb walked into the office, he knew something had happened. Ken and Barbie were poised to attack; Hamilton was motionless and angry behind his mammoth desk, his goons twitching. The room fairly shivered with tension, and everyone was on edge. Hamilton’s call with the senator not go well? Whatever…everyone’s panties were in a bunch.

  Except Francesca. Sexy, lush, she stood at Caleb’s side, projecting an image of the cat who swallowed the canary. Lips swollen, cheeks flushed, hair in disarray, she was stunningly beautiful. And Ken and Barbie noticed, raking her body with leering glances. Francesca is a means to an end, he told himself. Focus on Hamilton.

  The office was fitted with wood wainscoting, dark green upper walls, and aged oak flooring covered by a taupe Oriental rug. Ceiling-high bookcases. A nook off to the right had a majestic brown leather chair and side table sporting a Tiffany lamp. Hamilton’s desk was to the left. No computer in sight. Top to bottom, the room shouted zero tech, and if it weren’t for the armed guards, it would have reminded him of a bucolic retreat.

  But there were armed guards, and they stepped menacingly behind Caleb, within striking range. Hamilton urged them deeper into the dimly lit room as Barbie and Ken puffed out their chests, two cocks at sunrise jockeying to crow first. Hamilton opened a desk drawer, producing a bottle of scotch, and reached for a crystal glass from a selection on a silver salver to his left.

  He poured as Francesca sat in one of the two leather chairs in front of the desk, back straight, hands nervously smoothing her dress. She put her drink on her father’s desk, and faced him, as if expecting chastisement. Brent Levine sat to her right, and threw a smirk at Caleb, as if he were winning some unnamed contest. The asshole.

  Then Brent surprised him. He leaned on the arm of his chair toward Francesca, and then took her hand, kissing her knuckles, mouth opened enough to touch her with his tongue. “You’re looking lovely tonight.” Francesca’s expression shifted from insta-revulsion to strained smile as she leaned back when Levine leaned forward. The whole vignette made Caleb feel unclean.

  Stepping from Hamilton’s line of vision, Caleb rested a shoulder against the wall. Levine was supposed to be Hamilton’s number one choice for a successor, and for Francesca’s husband, so the guy’s “seduction” made sense…and played into the FBI’s plan. If Levine had the ledger as their sources claimed, Francesca would soon be perfectly placed to know, and to tell Caleb where to find it. The grift was in play, and click, click, click, the pieces were falling into place. Unfortunately, Caleb was almost positive he’d punch Levine if he t
ouched Francesca again.

  “Oh, ah, thank you, Brent.” She pulled her fingers from his grasp, still leaning away.

  Hamilton held a glass of scotch out to Caleb, not like it was being offered, so much as demanding he take it. Caleb stepped to the desk, took it because it was easier than not taking it, and then returned to his position against the wall. He was more comfortable with his back protected, eyes on everyone, especially with this crowd. Hamilton poured Levine and Francesca a glass, too, though didn’t offer Tate one, even though there was another glass available. Everyone noticed, especially Tate, who struggled to hide his resentment.

  Caleb brought the scotch to his lips, but didn’t swallow, not trusting Hamilton-the- sociopath with his playlist, never mind his drink. Francesca, however, took a gulp, coughed, and blinked to mitigate her suddenly tear-filled eyes.

  “Sorry.” She fanned herself with her hand, and then set the glass on her father’s desk. “Went down the wrong way.”

  “The senator was well, I hope,” Caleb said.

  Hamilton grimaced, probably unhappy Caleb reminded him of their deal, the senator’s IOU for Hamilton’s signature.

  Favors were currency, and Caleb wasn’t about to give the senator’s IOU away for free. Hamilton either signed Caleb’s contract or fucked him. Reneging. If Hamilton didn’t sign the contract, Caleb was Cinderella at the ball, his options fading at midnight and access to Hamilton’s inner circle and the mansion gone. Being forever known as a cheat could kill Hamilton’s future business negotiations, but with him dying and everything, maybe that wasn’t the deterrent it once was. Caleb was worried. The FBI’s operation relied on him being at the mansion, having access to Francesca, the security systems, and his cybersecurity team in place. He needed Hamilton to sign the damn contract.