Driven By Fate(18)

He released a pent-up breath. “I did appease you, Francesca. And I’ll do it again.”

Her laugh vibrated against his skin. “Don’t tone down the arrogance on my account.” She started to ease away from him. Porter found himself hard pressed to remove his hold, but the command finally reached his brain when she lifted an eyebrow. “You did appease me.” Her cheekbones darkened. “There are things I want, though. I’m not sure where this fits in.”

“What things?”

Francesca attempted to pull her ripped shirt together, but gave up, leaving her breasts bare. “I’m about to completely freak you out,” she said. “But I want a huge, loud, silly family. Barbeques, babies, and baseball games. The three B’s.”

“You’re right. That does freak me out.”

Her eyes lit with humor. “Don’t worry, I don’t want it with you.”

“Oh.” He wondered at the dodgy feeling wrought by that pronouncement. “I suppose it’s all right, then.”

She breezed past him toward the hallway. After a moment of staring at the pillar, he fixed his pants then went to his bedroom to retrieve a T-shirt and follow her into the bathroom. He had to pause on the threshold upon catching sight of her reflection—whisker burn on her neck, lips imprinted with self-inflicted bite marks, dark hair tumbling around her shoulders. Stunning. When their eyes locked in the mirror, something sharp and insistent burned in his chest. “You’re a beautiful goddamn sight.”

Francesca appeared just as startled by that slip as he, but she recovered first. “All right, all right. You want me to like you. I get it.”

He stepped behind her, lifting the torn shirt over her head. “Is it working?”

“Sure,” she whispered, hands lifting to cover her breasts. He stopped them halfway through their ascent, keeping them aloft. The red marks ringing her midsection would fade, but he bloody well wanted something to do with it. He smoothed his palm over the belt’s impression, watching his hand’s progress in the mirror, from one side of her ribcage, over her belly, to the other side. She appeared almost transfixed by what he was doing, the response of her body. Beneath his hand, her stomach shuddered, her nipples beading. “Is this, like, your post-game ritual?”

“No. This is different.”

“Oh.” She rolled her lips inward. “I, um. I could do the same for you, but your scars look like they’ve been there a while.”

“They have.”

Silence passed. “Not ready to share with the class?”

“No.”

His thumb brushed the underside of her breast and she sucked in a breath. “Well, you should at least tell me if you’re James Bond. Every woman he sleeps with dies, so I’ll need to take proper precautions.”

He looked up from the reflection of her breasts. “You’re familiar with James Bond?”

“I’m constantly surrounded by men. Of course I’m familiar.”

Porter’s hand froze. “Repeat that once more.”

“Of course I’m fam—”

“The men part. I’m talking about the men.”

She reached for the T-shirt with a sigh, pulling it over her head.

Porter would have lamented the disappearing view if he could think about anything else, anything but the men. “I’m rapidly losing patience, Francesca.”

She turned to face him. “Relax, monocle man. I live with my uncle. He has a lot of friends who apparently have nowhere better to be than my kitchen.”

Better than he expected, but he still didn’t like it. Didn’t like the idea of her spending time with men. Any men. “What do they do in your kitchen?”

“A shit ton of eating.” She rubbed a hand over her middle. “Speaking of which, I’m starving. I’m going to head home.”

She whooshed past him out of the bathroom, leaving Porter dumbfounded. Unbelievable. He’d actually found a woman he wanted to keep around and she couldn’t leave fast enough. He spun on a heel and strode after her, groaning when she bent over to pick up her panties, flashing that smooth, sexy backside in the process. She pulled them up her legs and did a little dance to get them in place. By god, it was f*cking adorable.

And just when had he started finding another person’s mannerisms adorable?

“You can’t leave yet,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Several reasons.” He counted them off on his fingers. “I haven’t paid you for the office work. We haven’t discussed when—when, not if—you’re coming back. And if you’re hungry, I can bloody well feed you. You needn’t wait.”

“Oh, I needn’t?” She hopped on one foot, shoving the opposite one into her leggings. “I’m halfway to liking you, so let’s quit while we’re ahead, huh?”

He closed the gap between them, hauling her to her toes. “You have no idea how close you are to having your lovely backside slapped into next week.”

There. There it was. Awareness. Need. Vulnerability. She was very adept at hiding her true reactions, but he could bring them to the forefront with little effort. It calmed him to see that susceptibility, told him she had a cauldron of thoughts bubbling just beneath the surface. He wanted to tap into each and every one and own them all.