by Lucy Score
“I told you I didn’t want to involve you.”
“I could have held your coat while you kicked in the door, punched your brother in the face, and dragged Chip out.”
His lips curved. That was probably the way Frankie would prefer to conduct business.
“That’s not how Kilbourns react to threats.”
“Let me guess,” Frankie said, tapping a finger to her chin. “You came back to the hotel, did a little digging, and found out why this Boris guy is so important to your brother so you could use it against him.”
He nodded again. “Essentially. You’re not running away screaming yet,” Aiden pointed out.
She shrugged. “It’s no kicking in a door and punching him in the face, but at least you were willing to do something vindictive. However, you were also willing to leave my friend at the hands of an idiot kidnapper for more hours than necessary. What if Elliot had hurt him?”
Aiden shook his head. “That’s not Elliot’s MO. He doesn’t get his hands dirty. You saw the setup. Chip was locked in a room and fed.”
“But you couldn’t know that for sure,” Frankie reminded him. “People go crazy all the time.”
“Chip dabbled in mixed martial arts after college. I think he could take a sniveling idiot like Elliot without breaking a sweat.”
She stepped closer. Her chin came up defiantly. “Your brother could and did hire other people to do his dirty work. You shouldn’t have assumed that they would have qualms about harming a rich, drunk American. You were so cocky in your assessment, you left my friend in a potentially dangerous situation and me in the dark. That’s not how you treat people, Aiden.”
He frowned, her words striking a direct hit. “There’s no point in reviewing ‘what-ifs.’ I was confident that Elliot wouldn’t harm Chip, and he didn’t.”
“You were willing to risk it.”
“I got where I am today by listening to my instincts.”
“Please. You got to where you are today because your daddy gave you a position and a big, fat trust fund. Maybe you’ve worked hard since then. Maybe you’re good at what you do. But you fucked up here. Chip could have been hurt while you and your brother were playing human chess. This wedding might not have happened, and a whole lot of other people would have gotten hurt.”
“But it didn’t happen that way,” Aiden pointed out, his frustration rising. He wasn’t used to being lectured by anyone other than his father.
“You were careless with other people, Kilbourn. That’s a pretty damning character flaw. I don’t go to bed with people who treat me or anyone else like shit.”
“Franchesca,” he began. Defending himself was getting him nowhere. Time to change tactics. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I was careless and cocky, and my decision could have hurt people.”
“Hmm.”
“What does that mean?”
“Aide, you tell me you’re a champion manipulator, and then you go and give me the perfect apology? Please. I didn’t just fall off a turnip truck. I know how far a man will go to get in my bed.”
He didn’t particularly care for being called out for his tactics or having to think about any other man lucky enough to land in Frankie’s bed.
“You wanted answers, you wanted an apology. And none of that’s good enough. What more do you want from me, Franchesca?” he demanded, crossing his arms.
“I want you to be real. Don’t play games. Don’t paint me a picture. Be honest. Don’t try to strategize your way between my legs.” She turned and started back toward the party and then paused. “Oh, and you owe Chip and Pru a pretty massive apology. Make it a good one.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Frankie marched back to the reception ready for a good, stiff drink. She was exhausted. Chip was safe, Pru was married, and she’d knocked the great and powerful Aiden Kilbourn down a peg or two. Her work here was done.
She was flying back in the morning. Back to normal life. Work, school, her insane mother. And as far as she was concerned, she’d be just fine if she never saw Aiden again.
“There you are!” One of the photographer’s lackeys grabbed Frankie’s wrist just as she was reaching for a glass of something cold and alcoholic. “Time for portraits,” the woman said cheerily, dragging her away.
“But, but tequila!”
“I’ll have a hot cocktail waiter spoon feed you tequila if it means you’ll run, not walk,” the woman said through gritted teeth.
“You don’t have to be afraid of the bride. There’s no zilla there,” Frankie said, warming up to a jog.
“It’s not her. It’s Wannabe Annie Leibovitz,” the lackey said, nodding in the photographer’s direction. The woman was wearing diamonds and silk as if she were one of the higher end guests. “She’s terrifying.”
“Send me that waiter,” Frankie hissed as the woman shoved her toward the photographer.
“You!” The photographer pointed an accusing finger in her direction. “Makeup!”
As if by magic, a hotel employee with a palette of gels and goops and glosses appeared in front of Frankie and started applying things to her face.
“And you!” The photographer pointed at Aiden who had trailed in, a glass of something manly in his hand. “Your hair is a little long on top for my vision. We need to cut it.”
“Or you’ll take me as I am,” he suggested calmly, his gaze finding Frankie.
“Bah!” the photographer spat out a laugh. “Fine. Stand there and look broody. Perfect,” she said when he didn’t move a muscle. She pointed at Frankie again. “You. Go there.”
“Where’s my tequila?” Frankie whispered to the assistant.
“I’ll share,” Aiden offered, holding up his glass.
She wasn’t getting through this without alcohol. She sipped, her eyes widening at the slow, smooth burn at the back of her throat.
“Scotch?” she asked, taking another sip. A team of assistants appeared and shoved her at Aiden, arranging them for the photographer.
Aiden nodded. His hand skimmed the small of her back, fingers curling around the curve of her hip.
One of the assistants snatched the glass from her hand and Frankie glared, mutinously at the man. “I must have only had the bad kind before.”
“I’ll give you a case,” Aiden promised.
Frankie looked up at him sharply. “Don’t start with me, Aide.” One of the stagers grabbed her hand and laid it flat on his chest. “Hey!” Frankie didn’t care to be arranged like a Barbie doll. Especially not when her Ken was Aiden.
“Perfect! Don’t move!” The photographer flew around them snapping away. Flashes blinding them both. “Stop looking at me. Look at each other.”
Frankie didn’t obey the command swiftly enough and Aiden nudged her chin up to meet his gaze.
“Oh, hell yes. Inferno over here,” the photographer shouted. “Give me more.”
“I want you,” Aiden announced quietly.
Frankie tried to withdraw, but he wouldn’t let her. He held her in place with those two big, capable hands.
“You wanted honesty. You don’t want games. I’m giving you that. I want you in my bed, Franchesca. I want to see you when we go home.”
“God! The smolder on you two,” the photographer crowed.
“I want you, and we both know that’s not one sided,” he pressed.
She shivered, thinking about those probing fingers under the table at dinner the night before.
“Giving in to every craving your body has is a stupid idea,” she shot back.
“Craving. What a perfect word for it.” He brought his hand up and smoothed her hair away from her face.
“Oh, yeah. I’m having orgasms over here,” the photographer shouted. “Way better than Sunburned Fake Tits and Mr. Roboto.”
“I just told you I don’t sleep with guys who treat people like shit.”
“Then I’ve changed my ways.”
She gave him her bes
t “shut the fuck up” look.
“I’ll be whatever it is you want me to be.”
“Aiden! How is that not playing games?”
“I’m trying to be honest with you.”
“Then try this on for size,” she suggested. “‘Frankie, I like you. A lot. And I want to fuck you, and I promise to make it worth your while.’”
“I want to do more than fuck you,” he admitted.
Frankie shook her head. “I know what you do. You play with women like toys until something newer and shinier comes along.”
“I don’t do long-term relationships,” Aiden agreed. “But I won’t play with you. I’ll be good to you.”
“While it lasts,” she shot back. “I’m not interested in being someone’s toy. And what makes you think I’d want a relationship with you anyway?”
“Then spend tonight with me.”
“Just tonight?”
“Let me have you tonight. All night. Then decide.”
“Jesus, Kilbourn. You want me to fuck you and then decide if I want to be your plaything?”
He looked pained. “I’ll give you anything you want.”
“Newsflash. You don’t buy me, asshole. You earn me.”
The camera shutter clicked incessantly. “Why don’t you grab her leg and hook it over your hip,” the photographer suggested to Aiden.
“I think we’re done here,” Frankie said, pushing out of Aiden’s arms. She needed tequila to cool the slow burn in her blood. Every damn time he put his hands on her, she couldn’t think of anything else but how good it felt.
She couldn’t trust him. Wouldn’t trust him. She had standards. She wasn’t some walking horn dog like Margeaux. And she wasn’t an idiot like Taffany. She knew exactly what she’d be getting into, and it wasn’t just Aiden’s bed.
--------
The party moved to the expansive stone terrace for dinner and more drinks. Frankie noted that Pru looked a little shell-shocked over Chip’s description of recent events. But she was a Stockton-Randolph now. Appearances had to be kept.
Still, Frankie watched her closely for signs of migraines or minor freak-outs. And while she watched Pru, Aiden watched her.
She avoided him. But it wasn’t easy. There was the group photography. The bridal party dance. And she couldn’t completely ignore him now that he was giving a toast.
He rose from the chair on Chip’s right, the microphone in his hand. The long bridal party table was swagged in ivory cloth and tens of thousands of dollars of cream-colored flowers. Strands of silver and gold crystals dripped from the table top down to the floor. Frankie half expected Gatsby himself to stroll out with a goblet of champagne.
And Aiden Kilbourn in a bespoke tux looked as if he belonged here.
He didn’t need to quiet the crowd. When Aiden spoke, everyone listened.
Frankie tried not to look at him, but it was like telling an elementary school student not to look directly into the sun during an eclipse. It just made her want to look more.
“Chip and I met on the polo field several years ago when my rather aggressive pony tried to take a bite out of his shoulder,” Aiden began warmly. “He was quite nice about it as Chip is about everything. I, on the other hand, am more like my pony.”
The crowd chuckled, and Frankie rolled her eyes.
“Despite that, we became friends. I thought my influence would harden him. Make him more aggressive to better suit me. However, it didn’t work out quite that way. Despite my best efforts, Chip remained kind-hearted, friendly. And I found myself softening a bit. Chip reminded me that there is more to life than conquering the world. There’s living and loving to be done. And he and Pruitt are a shining example of exactly that.”
Chip grinned up at Aiden.
Stupid eloquent bastard. He wasn’t even reading from notes.
“Now, I’m not saying you and Pruitt have changed my mind about marriage. But you do make love look appealing. I’ve never had someone in my corner the way Pruitt is in yours. Well, except for you, Chip, and you’re already taken.”
The crowd laughed eagerly.
“I’m honored to be in both your corners today. And for the first time in my life, I worry that I just might be missing out.”
Every woman on the terrace swooned. It was an audible sigh, like a flock of birds taking flight at once.
“To Chip and Pruitt. I wish you all the happiness that comes with living and loving,” Aiden said, raising his glass of champagne.
“To Chip and Pruitt,” the guests echoed.
That sexy rat bastard. No one would have guessed that just a few hours ago the man had allowed his so-called best friend to be used as bait. Aiden came to her, the microphone in hand. He leaned down and in, his lips brushing her ear.
“Quit glaring at me, sweetheart. You’ll spoil the pictures.”
He handed over the mic, winked, and returned to his seat.
Frankie cursed him. Her pulse rate was running at jack hammer speeds. One brush of his lips against her ear lobe, and she was ready to take his pants off under the table and grip his cock with both hands.
How was she supposed to give a speech when her nether-region was throbbing like volcano about to erupt? The man was leaking pheromones, nature’s roofies.
Grateful for the cover of the table and the long gown, Frankie rose and stood with her legs crossed tight. She cleared her throat and focused on Pru’s pretty face.
“I have two loud, obnoxious brothers at home. My whole childhood was spent wishing for a sister. Someone to even the odds. Someone who didn’t leave the toilet seat up.”
The crowd chuckled. See? She could be funny, too.
“I didn’t get my wish until I moved into my dorm freshman year. I walk into my new room, carting all of the freshman necessities like cheese curls and a straightening iron with my brothers bickering about who was carrying more stuff. And there she was,” Frankie smiled down at Pru who was already crying.
“My sister. She told my brothers to quit whining and to go order us a pizza. A good one, not one crapped up with onions and anchovies, if I recall. We were there for each other through mid-terms and finals, and boys and late nights, and hangovers, and more boys. Pru taught me to ski. I taught her to flip the bird to cabs in the crosswalk.”
Pru laughed and wiped her eyes.
“But for me, the absolute best thing about our relationship,” she paused to shoot a look at Aiden, “is being here today and seeing you two so happy. When you love someone, when you really care about them, nothing is more important to you than seeing them happy. And seeing you and Chip here today, I couldn’t be happier or more proud. You found your way back to each other, earned it. And together you’ll face the future as a team. I love you two. Salute.”
“Salute,” the crowd echoed and the air rang with the clinking of the finest crystal Barbados had to offer.
Chapter Twenty-Three
He caught her on the dance floor. Frankie was sharing a dance and laughing with Chip when Aiden appeared with Pru in his arms.
“Care to trade partners?” Aiden offered.
“Get your hands off my wife, Kilbourn,” Chip teased, reaching for Pru and reeling her in.
“There ye be, my pirate husband!”
Frankie started to step away, but Aiden held out his hand to her, daring her to take it. Fine. She could deal with a dance. One dance. It didn’t mean she’d end up naked with him doing magical things to her body.
“Sorry about ruining our pictures,” Chip told Pru.
She shook her head at him. “Everything was absolutely perfect. Think of the story we’ll have to tell our grandkids someday,” Pru told him. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”
“I have Frankie and Aiden to thank for that.”
“Ahem!” Frankie cleared her throat, staring pointedly at Aiden.
“Almost entirely Franchesca,” he admitted. “In fact, I’m afraid I’m due the blame, not the
thanks. It’s my fault Elliot took Chip.”
Pru stopped mid-dance and prodded Aiden in his impeccable lapel. “Make him pay.”
“You can count on it,” Aiden promised.
Pru nodded and melted back into Chip’s arms.
“Wait, wait, wait. That’s it?” Frankie demanded, squirming against Aiden’s hold. “He gets your groom kidnapped, lets him almost miss the wedding, and you’re totally fine with it?”
Pru stared up into Chip’s one good eye. “Aiden will take care of whatever needs taking care of.”
“Where is the girl who made me grovel for three days after I ate the last cannoli junior year?”
“Those cannoli were freaking amazing! Heaven in my mouth,” Pru argued.
“I know! My father made them!”
“Yeah, well, you said I could have as many as I wanted, and I was on my period. And I wanted that last one.”
“Three days. Over cannoli. You get her husband kidnapped and ‘oh, it’s fine.’ Life is not fair,” Frankie announced to Aiden.
“Shut up and dance with the handsome man while I make out with my pirate husband,” Pru said, shooing them away.
“You should listen to your best friend,” Aiden said, his voice was a rumble low in his chest.
She tilted her head back to look at him and regretted her decision. Why? WHY did he have to be so beautiful? His cheekbones were sculpted like a team of angels had weighed in on the exact right proportions. His beard was neatly trimmed moving him from clean cut to rakish. And all that dark curling hair? She wanted to shove her hands into it and grip while she shoved his face between…
Fuuuuuck.
She was no better than stupid Margeaux. Why did she want him? God, was she so desperate she’d fuck a guy just because he was hot?
As if reading her mind, Aiden drew her to the side of the dance floor and pulled her just a little tighter against him.
“I’m not a bad guy, Franchesca. I’ve made mistakes, but I’m not some heartless villain.”