Driven By Fate

by Tessa Bailey

  She broke his stare, looking down at the pad. “Can I read it?”

  He’d already gone this far. What the hell? “I suppose.”

  Her lips twitched as she leaned back in her seat and started to read. Minutes passed with him staring at the seat back in front of him, trying not to ask her what she thought. For all he knew, the story he’d created—about politicians using local mobsters to sabotage one another—was complete and utter shite. Should be burned to ashes at the earliest opportunity. When he’d finally reached his breaking point, she slipped a hand inside of his.

  “It’s really good, monocle man.”

  Tension ebbed from his shoulder in degrees, her genuine approval relaxing something inside him he hadn’t known was constricted. The flight went quickly after that. When they landed, he rather wished it were a bit longer so he could go on holding her hand. Halfway through the flight—over Virginia, he suspected—he’d grown used to her soft hand cradled in his. He still felt the need to further the touch, to use his grip to drag her onto his lap or remind her with a tightened hold that he led her where he wanted. And when. But there was pleasure in her show of trust, too. It contented him. For the flight, anyway.

  Watching her sliding into the back of the town car that would take them to their hotel ignited the appetite he’d managed to keep in check. Her thighs flashed, taunted. The thin denim stretched over her breasts as she locked her seatbelt into place. Fuck. They wouldn’t take two steps into the hotel room before he filled her full of cock. He’d be thrusting between those thighs so often that night, they’d have burn marks on the soft insides by morning. On the ride to the hotel, she knew exactly what he was thinking, too. She sent him glances from underneath those long eyelashes, her little nipples turning to points inside her dress.

  Porter brushed his palm over one of the peaks, breathed into her ear. “I’d planned to take you on your back, so I could kiss you while we fuck.” He squeezed rhythmically. “But when you look at me like that, all I can think of is bending you over. Is that what you’re asking for with those big, gorgeous eyes? You want me dripping sweat onto your back as I pound into you like an animal?”

  Her breath hitched, fingers curling into the hem of her dress. “I don’t care which way,” she whispered. “But we have all night, so I’m going with both.”

  How could he be so damn turned on and still want to laugh? “Have I created a monster?”

  “I’ve created one, too. That’s the second time you’ve teased me today.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, pulled back with a flush climbing her neck. “There’s hope for you yet.”

  Good Lord, I’m…in love with her. I’m in love with her. Porter fell back against the leather seat, heart beating wildly inside his chest. The interior of the car widened and narrowed, making him feel inebriated. With no idea how much she could discern by his expression, he quickly focused on the traffic whizzing alongside them. He could feel her watching him, but couldn’t return her stare. Not just yet. Not until he figured out what to do about this unexpected turn of…events. Because it was nothing if not an event.

  A demanding hum started in his stomach, eventually turning into an earthquake that dislodged pieces of him, one by one. What to do about it? What to do? He’d always had a solution for everything, but there was no satisfying answer to this. She wanted things he couldn’t give. He wanted his old life in London back.

  Didn’t he?

  They pulled up outside the hotel. Porter pushed open his door before the car had come to a complete stop, circling around back to open Francesca’s side. The scent of suntan lotion, coconut, and ocean breeze hit him, so light and out of place when dark unknowns swirled in his stomach. She took his hand to exit the car and he couldn’t help it…couldn’t stop himself from gripping her fingers hard, hard. Her answering whimper had the effect of a hammer blow to his midsection. I’m the worst man for her. I’m blaming her for making me love her.

  “You keep disappearing on me, Porter.”

  God, he was fucking this up. “Just distracted by the meeting later.”

  She nodded, but still looked dubious. He didn’t blame her.

  “Come on, let’s get inside.”

  Porter took their bags from the driver and followed Francesca into the lobby, memorizing the way she took everything in, the way she turned in a circle, tucking hair behind her ears and attempting to appear casual, like she’d been there a million times and simply wanted to check up on operations. A New Yorker to the bone. At that moment, he wanted to take her everywhere in the world, to places he’d been that had become stale and boring, just another paycheck. He wanted to go back with Francesca and watch her, to hand her those experiences and see what she did with them.

  He realized he’d been standing in the entrance watching her for far too long. Ignoring a curious look from the bellhop, he strode after Francesca and set their bags beside a lounge chair.

  “Wait here. I’ll go check us in.”

  Her smile was far more absent than before and it drilled a hole in his gut. Fix this. He’d fix this. As he stood at the front desk waiting for their keys, Porter vowed he wouldn’t ruin his first night with her.

  First or last? Could he keep her, knowing every second in her presence pulled him deeper? Jesus, did he have a choice? Twelve hours without her last night and he’d been climbing the bloody walls.

  The desk clerk placed the room keys on the desk and broke past his thoughts. He thanked the smiling woman and turned to find Francesca.

  She was talking to a man. A man who stood. Entirely. Too. Close. Visibly uncomfortable, she backed away and the man followed.

  Porter’s vision flickered, ugliness forming a funnel cloud inside him.

  He started across the lobby.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Beat it, creeper.

  Frankie ground her teeth as the man planted his hand on the end of her lounge chair, bringing her face to face with his wedding ring. In her everyday life, she didn’t dress to attract the opposite sex, but working in a facility full of men, she took her share of attempted pick-ups, usually by newer drivers who hadn’t yet tangled with her uncle and given a stern warning. Her polite nods and glances toward Porter didn’t appear to be breaching this man’s thick skull, though.

  She stood, intending to pick up their bags and join Porter at the front desk. The man chose that opportunity to step into her space. The tequila on his breath almost sent her back down onto the lounge chair, but pride kept her standing. She’d dealt with worse inebriation in the back of her cab, often having to call the police to haul a passed-out passenger to the hospital. But she hadn’t expected to deal with an advance in a hotel lobby that screamed expensive. Apparently losers came with all sizes of bank account. This one thought he could get away with his behavior because he happened to be reasonably attractive.

  He was in for a disappointment.

  “You here for business or pleasure, darlin’?” he asked in a voice that oozed the South.

  “Business, actually. I’m waiting for my boss.” She arched an eyebrow. “You mind backing up?”

  He breathed a laugh that made her eyes tear. “What is that accent? Boston?”

  Oh, boy. Wrong thing to say to a Yankees fan. “Queens. Which should come as a warning that I’ll knee you in the nuts if you ask me another dumb question instead of stepping back.”

  To his credit, he increased the space between them. But he ruined the gesture with a blatant perusal of her body. Frankie’s arms came up of their own accord, folding over her stomach. She stole a look at the front desk, relieved when she saw Porter thundering toward them.

  Scratch that. She wasn’t relieved. More like, nervous. Breathless. Even a little feverish. The determination in his eyes, the rigidity in his frame—all of it would be unleashed on her soon. So soon.

  “Aw, hell, you’re a live wire, ain’t you?”

  The stranger drawled the words just in time for Porter to arrive. Having grown up around hot-tempered males, par
ticularly ones carrying big sticks, she knew a split second was all she had to react or, based on the violent glint in Porter’s eye, they wouldn’t be staying in that hotel that night. She’d be looking for the closest bail bonds location.

  She lunged in between Porter and the southerner, throwing her arms around Porter’s neck. “Hey. Hey. There you are.” The tension in her eased when she heard the man’s footsteps heading in the opposite direction as he muttered under his breath.

  Porter’s focus was on the retreating man. “Move out of my way.”

  “I can’t,” she murmured into the underside of his chin. “You’re mad for no reason, and—”

  “You told him to back up—I saw you—and he did not back up.” His chest swelled against her. “I was gone for two minutes, Francesca. Two.”

  “I know.” She pressed a kiss to his neck. “He’s a lurker. Popped right out from behind a potted plant and everything. I was distracted by the sparkly chandelier and he got the drop on me.”

  His sigh blew her hair back. “You’re making jokes. I want to hurt him.”

  “You would, too. Hurt him. He’s not a match for you on his best day.”

  Finally, he looked down at her, a frown lowering his brow. “Do you honestly believe that I don’t know when I’m being patronized?”

  “Is it working?”

  “No.” His gaze narrowed. “Only slightly.”

  “I can work with that.” Hoping to seal the deal, she slid her curves against his hard planes, going up on her toes to speak at his ear. “Can you put me on my back now, my lord?”

  A growl rumbled in his chest. “You know damn well you’ll be getting it from behind after this. I need to claim. Do you understand?” His hand settled at her waist, thumb pressing to her hipbone. “When I can blink without seeing another man lusting after you, standing so damn close, we’ll see about getting your pretty legs in the air.”

  Frankie felt unsteady on her feet in the wake of his speech, but managed to walk beside Porter to the elevator bank. An attendant rang them a car, two stainless steel doors rolling open right away. They stepped inside onto plush red carpet, and rode to the eighteenth floor. Excitement fluttered her pulse, making it jump inside her neck and wrists, tickling every single nerve ending inside her body. The hand Porter had placed on her hip slid down onto her bottom, rubbing circles into the denim material, sliding it over her sensitive skin, making promises.

  Warmth. Liquid warmth unfurled between her legs, inviting him. He knew, too. Knew exactly what he did with his skillful touch. She could see his face reflected in the elevator doors—jaw hard, eyes on fire. So much want.

  They stepped out onto the eighteenth floor and hung an immediate right. For each step Frankie took, her heartbeat pounded ten times, her breath raced. They turned once more…

  …and came face to face with the Southerner from the lobby.

  In his drunken state, he appeared to be searching his briefcase and pockets for a room key. Porter stiffened beside her in degrees. God, no way would she be able to stop another confrontation. One had been tricky. Two? No way. Testosterone was all but visible in the thickening air around her.

  “Where is our room?” she asked, hoping to distract Porter.

  A muscle ticked in his cheek. “Here,” he said, indicating the room beside the Southerner’s.

  Frankie pried the key from his fist and led a resistant Porter toward the door, just as the other man stood, swaying on his feet, a key pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Found it,” he announced, beaming at them. His smile dimmed a little, however, when he recognized them from the lobby. Still, he shook the key at Frankie. “Here on business, huh? Staying in the same room with the boss sounds more like pleasure to me. You must be some secretary. Worth every penny.”

  She sidestepped just in time for Porter’s body to come up against her back, blocking him. It would cost him zero effort to move her, so she tried to think fast—so hard to do when several feelings were sweeping her at the same time, frustration chief among them, and continually thwarted desire. But something else crept slowly to the forefront, something seductive, smoky yet highly concentrated. She knew Porter wanted to fight on her behalf, to correct the disrespect this man had shown her, but she wanted him to take possession of her in a different way. Memories of the room at Serve bombarded her, potent memories of what it felt like when she’d believed Porter was going to take her in front of other people. Other men. Dense, impenetrable lust took over her body, her mind.

  Acting on instinct, she took Porter’s hand and led it between her thighs. And like she’d answered an unspoken call, he groaned into her hair, cupped her needy flesh. The other man fell back a step, his breath beginning to rasp past his lips.

  “He’s my boss in more ways than one,” she said, barely recognizing her own voice.

  “Jesus Christ, Francesca.” Porter’s erection grew huge against her bottom. His middle and ring finger found her clit through the lace panties and pressed down. “Get into the fucking room,” he ground out. “We’re talking about this.”

  Still flush with her back, Porter walked her toward their hotel room door, passing the Southerner, whose jaw hung in the vicinity of his feet. Porter ripped the key from her hand, then guided her into the room a second later. The door slammed behind them, but Frankie kept moving. There it was…an adjoining door. She walked toward it.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Porter near-shouted behind her.

  Knowing she was playing with fire, she ignored him, flinging open the adjoining door. The pressure in her head eased when she saw the latch, a latch identical to the one on the main door. If their neighbor unlocked his door, the latch would allow him two inches of visibility, without allowing him entry.

  Understanding dawned on Porter’s face, his hands coming to rest on either side of the doorjamb, caging her in. “I don’t need this.” His voice resonated with intensity, reaching past every wall she’d ever built and holding her captive. “We don’t need this.”

  She unbuttoned the top two buttons of her dress, feeling daring. Confident. Like someone else had inhabited her body and she never wanted her to leave. “No, we don’t need it. But I felt you against me.” Another button. “You told me I know you better than anyone? You’re right. And you want to show him who owns me. Don’t you, my lord?”

  “Yes. Yes. He wants what’s mine.” Sweat beaded his upper lip, breath rasping in his throat. His head fell forward and lifted again, closer this time. The doorframe protested under his grip as he studied her mouth, her body. His bulging arousal brushed her belly, making it shudder. “If he touches you, I will break his arm. I mean what I say Francesca. No touching.”

  “I only want you touching me.”

  “Your—” He cut himself off to kiss her, a sinful kiss with enough tongue to send more warmth to the juncture of her thighs. It reached deep, tasting her, possessing her. “Your clothes stay on. And you’ll tell me if it’s too much. Please understand I will not handle it well if you grow upset. I will not. Promise me you’ll use your safe word.”

  A throbbing started in her throat, sinking lower. “Yes, I promise,” she gasped as he sucked her nipples through the thin denim dress, rough hands kneading her bottom. Somehow she mustered enough focus to rap softly on the adjoining door and a moment later she heard the latch turn with a click. Before the last bit of coherency could flee, she reached over and turned the handle. Time seemed to freeze as the door opened, then banged to a stop when the latch caught it, jarring her back against the cool surface.

  The change overcame Porter in an instant. Like a panther guarding his mate, his shoulders tensed, his handsome face turned impassive, almost stoic. They were both aware of the figure that moved and stopped just beyond the door, but neither one of them turned to acknowledge him. Porter’s attention became so centered on her that she became conscious of nothing but him.

  He reached beneath her dress and peeled the panties down her legs before straigh
tening to his full height once more. His energy crackled in the semi-dark room, enthralling her, commanding every ounce of her attention. “It is somewhat unprofessional of me to fuck my secretary, isn’t it? But you can’t really blame me.” He ran his feather light touch up the inside of her thigh, then traced the seam of her damp heat with his middle finger, making a savoring noise in the back of his throat. “She’s a hard little worker. So eager to please the boss.”

  Frankie fell under the spell he wove with those low, hypnotic words. His questions weren’t meant to be answered, only to entice her. To make her feel sought after, the object of his pleasure. Yes, in that moment, she wanted more than anything to be the woman who brought this powerful man to his knees, who made him quake while buried deep inside her body. She wasn’t herself in that moment, but her formidable boss’s secretary. His plaything. Yet somehow, she’d never felt more herself in her entire life.

  “It’s bad for business having her around when I’m trying to work. Knowing she’s just waiting for the single word to put her down on her knees.” He placed one hand on the door, above her head, using his big body to crowd her against the hard surface. “Knowing she’s thinking of how I’ll taste instead of attending to her responsibilities is quite the distraction. It’s a wonder I get anything done.” One hand cupped her jaw, tilting her head back. “She loves getting me off with her pretty mouth, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, my lord,” she breathed, thighs beginning to feel weak, shaky. Her inhibitions were a distant memory in the dim hotel room, her trust entirely in the hands of this man.

  “This mouth.” Porter shook his head, tongue skating across his bottom lip. “It makes such sweet little noises, doesn’t it?” His hand dropped from her jaw to massage the hyper-sensitive flesh between her thighs. Frankie’s mouth fell open, head falling back. So good. So perfect. Without warning, he shoved two fingers inside her, making her cry out, her back slamming against the door. “Mmm. Hear that addictive whine she makes? Wait until I get my cock inside of her. She pleads for her fucking life.”