“Next time?” She didn’t understand what he was implying.
He shook his head, not hiding his frustration. “Don’t you get it, Francesca? There will always be a next time.”
With one stride, he covered the distance between them. His embrace rough and urgent, his kiss the same. When she tasted blood, her heart broke, because Caleb might have baggage, and some of it was scarring, but he was a man more sinned against than sinning, and she felt as if she’d failed him. If she had it to do over again, she’d have jumped on Harris and scratched the others blind.
When his kiss seamlessly transformed from anger to passion, and her caresses gentled his unleashed beast, Caleb broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers, still out of breath, still tense, but under control now.
“Does it hurt?” she said.
Caleb stood full height, contemplating her, licking his split lip. “I’m fine.” He indicated the vase. “What’s that for?”
She held it up. “Harris’s head.”
She’d surprised him. “How were you going to get through the door? There was an unconscious man in the way.”
She held up her phone. “I was going to call 911.”
“Did you?”
“I told them I misdialed.”
He nodded, his gaze intense and searching. “The vase. It’s a 1922 cire perdue.”
She translated the French. “Lost wax?”
“It’s one of four. In the world. Deux Figures Femmes Ailées.”
“How do you know?”
He lifted his brows for a moment, and then winced as the movement pulled on his cut cheek. “I’ve been known to dabble in the art market.”
“Hmm. Priceless?” And she was going to bash it over Harris’s head.
“Everything has its price.” He used a knuckle to push back a curl that dangled near her eye, and then grimaced. She could feel the dampness he left behind, so assumed he’d marked her temple with his blood. Then Caleb stripped his black T-shirt off, revealing more than rippling muscles. There were red marks, abrasions, and bruising. He cleaned her temple with the T-shirt. “Sorry,” he said.
“For what?” It was impossible to lift her gaze from the magnificence of his hard body, and she couldn’t help noticing that his injuries highlighted his strength, rather than diminished it. She really wanted to touch, but he’d suffered, and there was so much bruising…she should be icing him, not touching.
“Everything.”
His dejected tone had her seeking his gaze. The fight? “Don’t be silly. They were beating you up. You’re the victim.”
Caleb chuckled. “Bullshit,” he said. “If I can’t handle the likes of them, I shouldn’t be here. And believe me, here is where I want to be.” His words, so reminiscent of her father’s, startled her. Caleb laughed harder when he saw her reaction.
Bending at the waist, he threw her over his shoulder, prompting a squeal of delight, then he was running up the stairs, two at a time. She laughed, because he dazzled her, and she had a sneaking suspicious where he was taking her. And…yum, she couldn’t have been more pleased. She ran her hands down his warm back, slipped them past his belted waistband, and gripped his tight, muscular ass, tasting his skin.
When he reached the hallway, Caleb held her in place with a hand on her panty-covered ass, then entered her room, locking them inside. A few heartbeats later, she was splayed and bouncing on her satin comforter, unbuttoning her dress, as Caleb kicked off his boots, unbuckled his belt, watching her strip.
It took mere moments for him to kick his jeans to the side, and then he was on her, spreading her thighs, sheathing himself to the hilt. Gasping at the welcome invasion, wrapping her legs around his waist, she met each powerful thrust with gusto. He’d never been so forceful. Gone was the coaxing seduction, the slow ratcheting of arousal, until her control hung by a thread. Now Caleb took, and his touch was rough, exciting, transforming pent-up aggression into this primal coupling. It felt raw. She felt possessed. Body and soul, she’d never felt so moved by his need for her touch, her kisses, her skin pressed to his.
Caleb was feeding off her reactions, and it so overwhelmed her senses, it sent her on her most powerful climax ever. She disassembled, crying out, peaking with Caleb, their mouths united. Bodies’ one, she couldn’t pretend anymore.
She was such a fool. She’d allowed herself to love him.
After, chest rising and falling, breath hard to catch, she pressed her face to Caleb’s chest, hiding an expression that helplessly revealed more than she should, and forced herself to acknowledge her love was probably unrequited, despite the intense lovemaking. Caleb liked her well enough, wanted her, but he wasn’t a guy who loved. What had Jimmy the cabbie said? Guys like him should never marry. He was too much like her father, she supposed. It didn’t make her happy, but it was the truth, and to pretend otherwise, to ignore it, would mean she was setting herself up for even more unhappiness. It was best to live in truth and go from there.
He rolled off her, not speaking, and they lay staring at the ceiling, regaining their breath. She had a million questions, but was afraid to hear the answers. Harris, her father, Brent returning for his things, the corporate spy…there were too many happenings at the mansion for her father to ignore. He’d disassociated himself from Caleb’s fight in the kitchen, as if it weren’t his problem, and yet this was his home, his place of work. She feared his illness had made him give up on life, and today Caleb had paid the price. It broke her heart.
Francesca rolled toward Caleb, draping herself on his chest. “We need to call the police. They don’t get to hurt you, Caleb. My father might think this is okay…this hypermasculine crap, but I don’t and it’s not legal. That was assault and battery, and I’m a witness.”
Caleb drew his fingertip down her forehead to the tip of her nose and then to her mouth, lingering there. “I love your lips.” Gone was the banked rage, and now he was the reined-in giant she’d grown so fond of.
“Don’t change the subject.”
“You let me worry about Tate and your father.”
“I’m worried about you. Please don’t shut me out.”
“Francesca—” She saw he was about to put her off, and she couldn’t allow it.
“They could have killed you.”
“I took care of it.”
“You’re bleeding.”
He lifted his hands, splaying them, and studied his bruised and cut-up knuckles. “It’s nothing.”
She didn’t know how to get through to him. “Listen…I don’t know what you’re used to, but this is not normal, Caleb. Do you understand that? People don’t do things like this.” She waved her hand toward the bedroom door, indicating what just happened downstairs. “That was wrong.”
Caleb tugged her closer, squeezing her. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He kissed her brow. “And I’m sorry you had to see that, and…” He closed his eyes.
She noticed he’d said “see that,” rather than that it happened. “And?”
He licked where his lip split. Its swelling was getting worse. He needed ice. “Taking you like that. I’m sorry.” He rubbed his nose against hers and then dropped a kiss on her lips. “You deserve better.”
Francesca cupped his cheeks. “No,” she said. “No, Caleb.” His frown told her he didn’t understand, so she sought to spell it out without giving up her pride. “You’re exactly who I deserve.”
His eyes widened, and then he blinked with wonder. She’d expected a cocky grin or for him to make fun of her. Instead, she saw gratitude in his expression. Then quite against her will, her chin quivered, and she was fighting tears. Dropping kisses on his face, careful not to irritate his injuries, she desperately sought to hide her response.
Then Caleb covered her mouth with his, devouring it with a deep kiss. He worked his seducing magic, and soon his skillful caresses had her sighing, and then he was inside her again, holding her gaze as he brought her to climax…even when she cried out.
Pride go
ne, fear forgotten, there was only Caleb as she melted for him. She was an absolute mess…but later, as Francesca lay staring at the ceiling while Caleb showered, she couldn’t help but wonder why she was so damn happy. It made no sense. She had no control over any aspect of her life. Even her volunteer work was in flux. She felt helpless, but…none of it seemed to affect her happy mood. Her smile would not fade.
Francesca blamed love.
She’d always thought it would find her at school. She and her mystery lover would date for a few years, see how they fit into each other’s lives, and if all went well, they’d marry and set up house. Yet she and Caleb got engaged first, set up house, and now everything else seemed to be falling into place. Except Caleb wasn’t anything she’d anticipated in a fiancé. He did make her happy, though, and there was no denying she was in love with him. A tiny part of her had begun to hope that, well, maybe she could make him love her, too.
It was such a new and mind-blowing idea she had to suppress all thought simply to keep herself from running into the bathroom to demand clarity from Caleb. Was he in love with her? Or was she setting herself up for a huge fall? She refused to spend the rest of her life twisting herself in knots trying to make a man love her.
Francesca jumped out of bed, unwilling to sacrifice her good mood to worrying. She’d focus on the day’s agenda, namely, gather her notes from the office for Stephanie’s upcoming court date. Sitting at her vanity, thinking to repair her makeup and hair, Francesca couldn’t help but notice the differences from her usual reflection. Flushed cheeks, rosy just-been-kissed lips, and mussed hair framing her face…she even looked happy.
Caleb stepped out of the bathroom fully dressed, wet hair slicked back, though still scruffy from not having shaved since the party. “Your father called a meeting. Gotta go.”
She could see his worry and his attempt to hide it. “Maybe he’s come around and called the police.”
“I’m thinking it’s the server updates my people finished this morning, but maybe you’re right.” He kissed her, lingered, and then looked at her reflection. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
She held his reflected gaze in the mirror. Was this him telling her he was developing feelings for her? As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Caleb stood, breaking eye contact. “See you later.” Then he hurried to the door.
She turned, holding the chair’s backrest. “Caleb.” He stopped. “Why was Harris punching you? Does it have anything to do with Brent Levine? I found his watch and wallet in Harris’s office.”
Alarm flashed on his face, and then he controlled his features and frowned, walking back to her side. “Francesca, I…I care for you. So I’m asking you to trust me on this. Forget Levine. Ignore Tate. Have you asked your father about the ledger?”
“Is that why Harris was punching you?”
“That’s not an answer, Francesca.”
She shook her head. “I will, though, if you want me to.”
“I don’t think we can put it off any longer. I need you to ask.” He kissed her forehead. “Just remember to not bring me up in the conversation.” Then he left.
She watched him until the door closed behind him, wanting to help, worried. It really bothered her that Harris was no longer trustworthy. He hurt Caleb, had Brent’s personal belongings, and her father thought Brent was the spy, so…maybe Harris was in cahoots. No wonder Caleb kept trying to keep her out of it. When she came back for dinner, she’d ask her father about the ledger. It would be awkward, because she’d have to come up with a plausible reason for asking without involving Caleb, but it had to be done. For her father’s sake.
Ten minutes later, purse in hand, she realized she’d forgotten to order her limousine and notify her bodyguards that she was going to CFS to gather files on Stephanie, so she pulled her disposable phone from her dress pocket. Walking past the kitchen door, she attempted to dial, only to be reminded…duh…it was still dead. Damn. She stomped her heel on the marble floor, and glanced behind her. Her personal iPhone was still upstairs, but Caleb was adamant she use the disposable one when she was out for safety reasons. With a sigh, Francesca slipped the disposable one back into her pocket, making a mental note to charge it in the car…and then she remembered the mess in the kitchen. It wasn’t fair for the poor cook to clean Harris’ and his bullies’ mess, so Francesca stepped inside, determined to tidy.
She found Harris and his three security guards facedown on the kitchen tile, bloodied and bruised, moving as if they were only now reviving from an unconscious state. Instinct had her legs moving out of the kitchen, and hurrying from the house.
They were Caleb’s mess, and to some extent, her father’s. Once outside, under the sunshine, breathing fresh air, her sanity returned and then she second-guessed herself. Guilt crept past her unease. She’d left them in the kitchen, hurt, bleeding. Who did that?
Caleb. And her father.
Suddenly, Francesca needed to be anywhere but here. She hurried to the garage instead of ordering her limousine from the safety of the foyer’s intercom system. Michael, the chauffeur, was wiping down the newly washed limousine. “Hi. I’m in the mood to drive and need my father’s easiest car.”
“Easiest?” Michael wasn’t wearing his black suit jacket or his snazzy hat. His hair was wavy, and a lock of it fell over his forehead. In shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbow, he looked younger than she remembered, beefier, and less stick-up-his-ass.
Speaking of stick… “I don’t do stick shift,” she said.
“Oh. I understand.” He nodded. “Protocol requires that I drive you, miss, and I do drive a stick.”
“Give me a set of keys, Michael. I’m a grown woman. I think I can drive myself to the city without the world coming to an end.” She pointed behind her, where Walter and Ralph were watching, keeping guard from a distance. “If something happens, they’ll take care of me.”
He wasn’t happy, but Michael nodded. “I have something.” He approached a wooden cabinet affixed to the garage’s wall and opened it, revealing multiple hooks with keys hanging from them. He chose a set and then closed the cabinet door.
“What about that car?” She pointed to a pretty, shiny red sports car. It was small, so she imagined it couldn’t be all that difficult to drive.
“The Porsche Spyder, ma’am?” He clutched the set of keys in his hand until his knuckles turned white.
“Yes.” She liked its name—Spyder—and knew Porsche was a reputable company, so it should be plenty safe.
“It’s a million-dollar investment, ma’am.” Francesca blinked, knowing he was trying to say something, but not sure what. “And a stick.”
“Oh. I don’t drive stick.”
“As you say.” He handed her a set of keys. “This will do.” He led her to a white sedan that was different from all the other cars in the garage. “My car. Your father would fire me if you scratched one of his. If you don’t mind?”
“Are you sure? I’ll need it for the afternoon.”
“No worries.”
Her heart melted. “Thank you, Michael.” She took a calming breath. It had been years since she’d driven herself. In fact, it was when she’d tested for her license five years ago, but she refused to worry and suspected it was like riding a bike. The skill never really went away. “I’ll be back by supper.” A supper her father had no interest in spending with her, holed up in his office. Her heart tugged at the thought.
With a wave and a tight smile, Francesca got behind the wheel and tensed up, determined to drive safely. Her bodyguards had pulled up in their black sedan behind her, so she was ready, in control, if only of the car. The drive into town was filled with frustrating traffic, so when it opened up, Francesca put her foot on the gas, eager to make up some lost time, but then a stoplight forced her to brake. “Ugh!”
Banking her impatience, she peered into her rearview mirror, searching for her security detail. Walter and Ralph were nowhere in sight. It made her nervous, so she looked ov
er her shoulder, searching for them in a different lane. She didn’t see them, and froze, panicking.
She was on her own.
Chapter Thirteen
Caleb got a call from Walter, the head of Francesca’s security detail, admitting they’d lost Francesca in traffic, her phone pinged that she was at the mansion, which she clearly wasn’t, and it was going to voicemail. Since Caleb had replaced her phone with a burner, the phone issue wasn’t a mystery, but he was pissed at him for losing her, so he didn’t explain the oversite and instead hung up. He’d explain about the switched phones after Francesca was found safe.
All worked up and worried, Caleb synced his iPhone to the car’s Bluetooth and speed-dialed Francesca’s line, ready to vent when she picked up. When she didn’t, his heart skipped a beat. He quickly hung up and then called his team, found they had eyes on her, and their car was three cars back from hers in traffic. His relief was visceral, weakening, and added a simmer to his anger.
Caleb made a U-turn, skipping the exit for Franklin Park Zoo, where the meet had been schedule with his Special Agent in Charge. He was five minutes out from Francesca’s location, and didn’t like that her security was so light. He’d reschedule his debrief. There was no new information anyway.
Tate’s volatility continued to be a problem, and Marnie’s worm in the servers came up snake eyes. Caleb was spinning his wheels, and… his decision-making was compromised by his feelings for Francesca. He wasn’t being effective, and he suspected a different agent would have pushed her to question her father more aggressively, maybe would have gleaned a lead or two by now. Caleb had squat to use against Hamilton in court, and to the Feds, that’s all that mattered.
Caleb speed-dialed his boss. The line connected. “Something’s come up. Need to reschedule.”
“Impossible—” Special Agent in Charge was not happy.
Unavoidable. He had to make sure she was safe. Caleb disconnected, speed-dialed Francesca’s burner phone one more time, and got no answer. “Damn.” Was it too much to ask her to pick up the phone? He disconnected when the line went to voicemail, and then his phone rang.
Seduced by Sin (Unlikely Hero) Page 15