“I came for the contract, and I’m staying for Francesca.” All true. Hamilton’s laugh burst from his chest, because even a sociopath recognized truth when he heard it. “The real question is why did you choose me?” Hamilton’s laughter stopped on a choke. Caleb had caught the old man’s machinations. No reason to pretend otherwise.
“You certainly don’t disappoint.” Hamilton didn’t hide his surprise. “Truth is, I’ve done extensive talent searches, and have monitored you for years. Of all the potential prospects, you were the most qualified to run my business.” He sipped his scotch. “You’ll do nicely.”
“Am I supposed to say thank you?”
“I don’t care one way or the other.” He seemed tired now that the excitement was over. “We’ve already planted the rumor you killed Levine.” He glanced at the red stain on his wall and grimaced. “It will buy you a couple of weeks before challenges to your authority crop up. They will come, so give her a wedding—but make it quick. She won’t be safe until this is finalized. Even then, you know what it will take to ensure the security of my empire.” He sipped more scotch, his expression sad, with maybe a touch of disappointment. “She’s weak, Smith. As a favor to my dying wife, I agreed to raise her in privilege and ignorance, so it’s partially my fault. You’ll have to accommodate that, but ignorance has its upside. It makes them pliable.”
Caleb had to give himself a mental shake, because he could visualize stepping into Hamilton’s version of Caleb’s future. Scary part? He could see himself “doing nicely.” Hell, the Feds would encourage and enable his acceptance of the CEO/president position in the extortion consortium. They’d see untold opportunities to gather information and do a clean sweep of all the culprits involved. Even Caleb found the idea tempting…which was the sticking point, because there was a fine line between someone like Hamilton and someone like Caleb. Truly succeeding Hamilton would smudge it.
Hamilton raised a glass. “Cheers.”
Caleb’s nerves were shot, so he grabbed Francesca’s glass instead of his, tapped his glass to his future father-in-law’s and upended it, washing away the taste of gunpowder and blood. “I need to check on Francesca. She’s pissed.”
Hamilton stood with difficulty and then led the way to the door. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be around. I’ve told Francesca it could be six months to a year, but I’ve a feeling that’s a generous estimation. I’ll spend what time I do have organizing the businesses and documenting their protocols and best practices. We’ll meet every morning until…the end. When I can no longer function, I’ll give you my ledger.” Hamilton grabbed the doorknob.
Caleb leaned on the door, stopping him from opening it, thinking, not good enough. He wasn’t willing to wait until the old man died. For starters, death had a funny way of sneaking up on a man, so it’s not like he could afford to hope that Hamilton staved it off until he was good and ready to hand the ledger over. “You want me to helm your businesses when you die, but keep me in the dark until then? Are you trying to make me fail or get me killed?”
Hamilton threw him a crooked smile. “Once you have the ledger, you won’t need me, won’t need to marry Francesca. This is me covering my ass.” He glanced at the doorknob, silently demanding Caleb back off. But he couldn’t. Leaving it like this felt wrong. Hamilton was still holding all the cards.
“How will you explain Levine’s absence? People will talk.”
Hamilton’s smile widened. “No one cares if people like us disappear, Smith.” He turned the knob and opened the door, forcing Caleb to step back or wrestle with a dying man. “They just count their blessings.” Caleb saw guests milling about the hallway, beckoning Hamilton. “But tonight we live, so we celebrate.” He merged into his welcoming guests, trailed by Tate and the rest of his entourage, but not before winking at Caleb, indicating the stairwell leading to Francesca’s bedroom.
Caleb froze, flipping through everything that just happened, picking apart every choice, every thought, every risk, and weighing them against the outcome. The conclusion was indisputable. He’d overplayed his hand.
Hamilton had already signed the contract. Caleb hadn’t needed to supplant Levine, and no one had to die for the operation to move forward. Hamilton wanted Caleb to helm his empire. He was exactly where Hamilton had maneuvered him. “Fuck.”
Get her with child, he’d said. Then she’ll never leave you. It was tempting, every damn bit of Hamilton’s plans for him, but it cost Levine his life. And could very well cost Caleb’s, too, before all was said and done.
His gut demanded he grab Francesca and run…as far and fast as money allowed.
Slamming the office door behind him, verifying it was locked to prevent innocent eyes from seeing blood on the wall, Caleb hurried past the curious partygoers in search of Francesca. He took the stairs two at a time, made a beeline to the second floor, opening every door with a bang, not bothering to knock. He burst into each room until he found her sitting at a delicate vanity, applying lipstick in a room of cream and gold decor, a perfect backdrop for a pampered socialite. He didn’t belong here.
Run or play out the mission… Could he take what Hamilton offered, the company and his daughter? It would bring untold wealth and power enough to keep it. It more than tempted the street rat in his veins, as did the woman staring back at him, lip brush clutched in her hand. He could keep Francesca. She’d fight it, deny their attraction because it would cost her pride…but she wanted him back.
One touch and he could make her admit it—if Caleb had no soul.
The moment his undercover identity became reality he’d be no better than the piece of shit who sliced his throat. Today he’d found the line he would not cross, and Francesca stood squarely on it. He’d stick with the original plan: find the ledger, hand it over to the Feds, and bail.
So what the hell was he doing in Francesca’s bedroom?
Lips parted, her breasts strained against the satin confines of her dress. Her eyes traveled up the length of him until their gazes locked, and then he knew exactly why he was here. Because he couldn’t help himself.
Caleb closed and locked the door, shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket, and dropped it. Loosening his bow tie, he ripped it off and stepped toward her. Francesca’s eyes narrowed, and her breathing became labored, as if she, too, had raced up the stairs. She stood, hands clutching her chair’s back as he kicked off his shoes. He unbuckled his belt and then paused, wondering what he’d have to do to make her admit this was something she wanted.
She lifted her chin, defiant. “This doesn’t mean anything. But…”
He unbuttoned his shirt, incapable of imagining a world where she wouldn’t allow him to make love to her right now. “Anything.” He’d do anything.
She licked her lips, took a deep breath, and settled her gaze on his hands. Him lowering his zipper. “I feel like if you don’t touch me right now, I’m going to die.”
Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. Dropping his pants and briefs, Caleb kicked them aside, shrugging out of his shirt and stripping his T-shirt over his head. She kicked off her shoes, and showed him her back.
“My zipper. Hurry!”
Hands shaking with uncertain restraint, Caleb closed the distance between them and inched the zipper down, tooth by tooth, down to the cleft of her naked ass. Her back was pale and flawless. He spanned her waist. She turned, facing him as her dress fell to her feet. Her gaze zeroed in on his chest, his angel wings tattoo, and then she splayed her hands over the art, dragging her fingertips down, pressing her lips to it, tasting his chest, threatening what little control he had as her hands fluttered on him, tentatively, as if unsure of herself. It had Caleb promising himself by the time he was done with her, there’d be nothing she wouldn’t dare when they made love.
He captured her mouth, sweeping his tongue inside, cupped her breast and flicked the tip with his thumb. She wiggled closer, gasping, straining to bridge even the smallest distance between their bodies. When he felt her fi
ngers dig into his back, pulling him closer, making tiny impatient noises in her throat, he smiled with satisfaction and broke the kiss.
“You are perfect.” He slipped his hand between her thighs, and was rewarded with a sigh and her widened stance. When he dipped his fingertips into her wet heat, Francesca’s knees buckled. He caught her, swung her into the cradle of his arms, and hurried to the bed, laying her on its silky comforter. “Glorious.” Naked, drugged with want, she looked at him like he was the answer to all that ailed her. He wasn’t. But they could pretend for a little while.
He knelt between her thighs, and took his time…kissing, tasting, caressing every inch of her…finding what she liked, what had her gasping with pleasure. And when she could take no more and her little noises of impatience peppered the air, Caleb positioned himself, and with one breathtaking stroke, filled her. Then froze…taken aback by the exquisite torture of her tightness. She was breathing fast, her hands on his chest. He slowly withdrew until only his tip was inside her.
Francesca dug her heels into the back of his thighs, clutching his waist, pulling him closer, arching her hips until he was once again buried to the hilt, her body tight around his, her breath gasping. Her nails dug into his ass, and he struggled to remain still, to give her body time to accommodate his size.
“Caleb…please.” She wiggled beneath him.
Caleb buried his face in the hollow of her neck, hiding his smile, loving how she moaned and undulated beneath him. When he found he couldn’t delay longer, he moved inside her, withdrawing, pausing, and then going deep, pausing, over and again, until she felt what he felt…a clawing need, frustrated arousal, a hunger that at once fed as it took away, until the real world faded and there was only him and Francesca and this feeling.
When finally a sob escaped her lips, her eyelids fluttered closed, and he thought her poised to release, Caleb covered her breast with his mouth, circling its tip with his tongue. She inhaled sharply, holding his head to her, locking her legs around his hips.
She crested in his arms, and it was beautiful, she was beautiful…both delicate and powerful in her glory, and he found the sight too much for his control. He moved faster, stroking longer. He cupped her chin, greedily watching her composure dissolve…for him, succumbing to her body’s response to him. He dropped tiny kisses on her face until she opened her eyes, revealing surprise, throwing her head back, crying out, mouth open, moaning, as the full impact of her climax hit her.
And still he rocked above her, methodically, burying himself and then withdrawing, until she was panting and tossing her head to the side. Then she grabbed his head, pulled his lips to hers, and bit his lower lip.
Caleb flinched, his focus subverted, and found himself climaxing against his will, pumping inside her, carried to a degree of pleasure he’d never experienced. And it took everything from him, emptying him of every emotion but ecstasy…and shock.
He collapsed to the side, careful not to crush her but keeping her close, and found himself out of breath and spent. She lay draped on his chest, also out of breath, and he could feel her heart racing, as aftershocks quaked their bodies.
It was a long while before he could hold a thought, before he remembered about downstairs, Levine’s murder…and the deal. He went from the Feds’ operation hanging in the balance, to Hamilton handing Caleb his business and using Francesca to wrap it all in a bow.
He stared at the pristine ceiling, realizing he was living the moment that until a half hour ago had been Levine’s to live. Instead, Levine was dead. Murdered. And Caleb had the contract, his excuse to search Hamilton’s business accounts, and was now perfectly positioned to unearth hard evidence needed to arrest and convict Hamilton, the rich and powerful sociopath, and every one of his complicit, murdering pieces of shit employees…and soon. The ledger was too necessary to Hamilton’s business not to be close by. Caleb would find it.
Then he’d disappear.
He drew his hand down her back until he was cupping her ass. Soon, he’d be gone. The Feds would descend on the mansion, tear down Hamilton’s empire, and send Francesca’s dying father to jail. Caleb squeezed, exploring its cleft, and felt great satisfaction to see how he could make her wiggle closer. Then she tilted her chin up and pressed a kiss to the scar on his neck, her tenderness at odds with what the scar represented to him…violence, vulnerability, rage. No one had ever kissed his scar before, and…she humbled him.
He’d set her up. She was going to suffer for it, all of it—even this moment of bliss. She’d look back on it and die a little. And that was best-case scenario.
What the fuck was he doing?
Chapter Six
Francesca nudged him. She still hadn’t regained her breath, but then again, neither had he. “What was said after I left the office?” Never in her life had she ever said no to her father, not when it was in her power to say yes, and now, when she’d finally gotten the courage to say no…Caleb sabotaged everything.
When she’d left, she’d half expected her father to follow, to chastise her for bad manners. Why, she didn’t know. Her father had never followed anyone, least of all his daughter. That would require him to care.
“I know I said I’d marry you,” she said, “but it’s not going to happen. You know that, right?” Caleb didn’t respond, just stared at the ceiling, his expression noncommittal.
Earlier, when she’d heard all the doors banging, she’d thought her father was searching for her, but her father knew where her room was, and he wasn’t the man of her youth. He was weak now, and didn’t have the energy to vent that kind of rage. So she hadn’t known who it was, and it scared her, because she’d feared Brent looking for a confrontation.
It was a pleasant surprise to see Caleb opening her door, looking ready to eat her alive. Yum. Francesca smiled, tucking that memory away to pull out on rainy days…her own personal Darcy.
She ran her fingers up his magnificent belly, to his wide chest, outlining the angel wings tattoo. They were intricate and dark, and covered the whole top of his extremely muscular upper chest. She drew her fingers to the indentation of his solar plexus, imagining herself pouring tequila there and lapping it up with a salt/lime chaser.
Caleb’s hand still cupped her ass possessively. “No worries. Just a chat between my soon-to-be father-in-law and his soon-to-be son-in-law.”
“Regarding?”
“Nuptials.”
She tweaked his nipple, earning herself a raised brow and his full attention. “I’m not marrying you, Caleb.”
Sporting a dark and foreboding frown, Caleb propped himself up on his elbow, allowing her to slide off his chest and land on her back. “Sex with no commitment? You’d do that to me?” Her jaw dropped as she stared up at him. “So I’m not good enough to marry. Who are you holding out for?” His frown faded and was replaced with a quick and naughty smile. She was relieved enough to swat his chest for the teasing.
“Give me a break,” she said. “We both know you want something, and I’m not it.”
When her father told her she was to marry Brent, Caleb remained silent, apparently happy enough then to allow her father’s plans to play out. Something changed over the course of that interaction, and she was confident it had nothing to do with her.
He cupped her breast and then leaned, kissing its tip. “What could I possibly want more than this?”
He kissed his way up her body until his lips met hers, and then he swept his tongue into her mouth, reminding her there was nothing better, but his question hadn’t been rhetorical. Not to her. She pushed against his chest until he relented and lifted his head, breaking their kiss. He hovered, searching her eyes, giving nothing away. Reminding her that despite their intimacy, they were still strangers.
“Whatever you want, it better be worth it, because my father doesn’t suffer fools.” She dragged her nails across Caleb’s stubbly chin, frowning up at him. “He’s ruthless when he has to be. Look at me…he’s marrying me off to you.”
�
��He’s keeping you safe.” He revealed a bit of the calculation she’d seen in the office, when he’d claimed her. It gave her an uneasy feeling…as if she wasn’t quite in the loop. Suddenly, she felt off kilter.
“You don’t want to marry me. We’re…” She blinked and searched for the right words. “We just met a week ago!” Francesca didn’t see a future where she and Caleb were running hand in hand from a church, being pelted with rice, but maybe Caleb wasn’t thinking about the marriage so much as what their marriage would bring him. That possibility edged her toward panic. He drew his palm over the tip of her breast, making her nipple contract, and her body reacted instantly, and quite against her will, diluting her panic with desire.
“Francesca, stop,” he whispered.
Stop? Caleb’s hands were distracting, sending waves of arousal to her groin. Then he nuzzled her lips, moved to her nipple, and slid his hand under her, squeezing her ass, making her pliable to his every caress. She felt…dreamy.
Tilting her head, she gave him better access to the hollow of her neck, moaning when his tongue tasted and his teeth gently scraped. “Stop what?” she said. He gently bit down on the muscle there and had her moaning some more, opening her thighs to his questing hand.
“Stop trying to make sense of the nonsensical. I promised to protect you. I will.” He kissed the tip of her nose and then held her gaze as he gently pressed his finger inside her and circled his thumb around. She wiggled, inhaled sharply. It was impossible to focus, but she had something to say.
“I won’t marry you,” she gasped.
Caleb circled his thumb some more, smiling a crooked smile. It rung a moan out of her as her arousal grew, and wouldn’t be ignored. Lowering his head, his breath fanned her damp nipple, pebbling it, and then he took it in his mouth again, flicking it with his tongue as his hand continued to work its magic. His finger dipping inside her over and again, surprising her with how quickly he made her need him—need more of him. It shocked her every time. Ever-increasing waves of pleasure beat at her senses until he had her trembling. His smiles, his intent, his confidence screamed arrogance, but she didn’t care, because with a few deft strokes, she was gone, orgasming, rocking hard against his hand, holding it in place as Caleb lifted his mouth from her breast to sweep his tongue into her mouth, kissing her with such drugging expertise she rode to climax, hanging there for a seemingly endless fulfillment. When she floated back to earth…in his arms, caressed and petted, she felt absolutely divine.
Seduced by Sin (Unlikely Hero) Page 7