Driven By Fate(24)

A smile pushed against her lips. Every time she heard this sentiment from a spouse, brother, or another woman, it gave her confidence a much-needed boost. Her presentation was next Friday. Next week was the future. However, that thought only made her more aware of her present. He loomed in the seat beside her, weighing every word that left her mouth. She risked a glance at Porter from beneath her lashes and, yeah, she hadn’t been imagining it. His intensity took hold of every cell in her body.

Frankie licked her suddenly dry lips and reached into the center console, removing her business cards. Not the cards she would eventually have made up, just personal ones she passed whenever a passenger gave her a good feeling. “My name is Frankie. Have your wife or sister call me on their next night out. If I’m on the road, I’ll swing by and get them.”

As they coasted to a stop at the specified address, the man took her card through the plastic partition. “Hey, thanks. This is great.” He stuck his hand into the front seat for her to shake. “Officer Brent Mason, at your service. You let me know if anyone gives you trouble, capiche?”

Frankie pretended not to notice the officer’s sidelong glance at Porter as he exited the cab, or the muscle jumping in Porter’s cheek. Having someone else visibly react to the danger she sensed in Porter made her wonder if she was being reckless. Going back to that first night when she’d spied on him through the door at Serve, the mystery around him had been evident. Her attraction to him seemed to have overridden any caution. Or was that just Porter on the surface? Did dangerous men give thoughtful antique toys to their romantic interests? It didn’t fit. He made her feel safe, even if she couldn’t explain why.

And she wanted him. God, did she want him.

“I know a place,” she whispered, looking up at Porter.

Was that relief that flared in his eyes? “Here I thought you might back out.”

Her heart started to pound. “Why would I do that?”

He dipped his head forward, making him appear a little sinister, but a lot sexy. “Don’t play games with me now. I can read every thought on your gorgeous face.”

Unbelievable. One compliment from him turned her inside out. She had no choice to make. Only Porter could provide the type of relief she needed, the kind she’d been seeking for so long. Denying herself, denying him, wasn’t an option. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

His Adam’s apple rose and fell. Her stoic Brit actually appeared taken aback by her returned compliment. “This is highly irregular, Francesca.”

“Monocle.” Jesus. She couldn’t look at him any longer. Not until they were alone. So hot. He was so damn hot. In a way that suggested he’d never considered why it mattered. Maybe he’d used it to his advantage with women, but never realized the effect of his smile or the deep scrutiny he pinned her under. She thought of his earlier words. In my experience, women often play games…

Frankie jerked the cab into gear harder than intended. No way was she jealous. That would be stupid.

Still, as she pulled into an outdoor storage facility, parking in a hidden spot behind the last locker, where high school students often made out at night, the feeling wouldn’t dissipate. The redhead from Serve popped into her head, her throaty voice calling Porter, “Sir.” Frankie’s face heated, her teeth ground together. This reaction was unacceptable. It warned her that she’d started to think of this diversion as special. Singular. It wasn’t. High time she reminded both of them.

“Here we are, Sir.”

Porter flinched. “What did you just call me?”

Her head of steam evaporated slightly under the weight of his reaction. “I think y-you heard me.”

Before she’d finished delivering her rejoiner, Porter flung open the passenger side door, stepped out of the cab and grabbed hold of her legs. He yanked, putting Frankie flat on her back on the leather bench seat. It happened so fast, she actually yelped. He knelt at one end of the bench, her ankles gripped tightly in one hard fist, the other hand working at the fly of her jeans.

“I promise you will regret that slip, Francesca.”

He stripped her jeans down her legs.

…

Porter embraced the vibrating dose of adrenaline, letting it coat his veins. Let it sink into his stomach and pull whatever heart he had left down with it. Angry. He was so angry and he didn’t give a f*ck about the reason. He only knew his preoccupation with Francesca continued to inflate and he’d been forced to watch her go all soft over the mention of children. Family. Things he didn’t want.

He could give her this, though. Sex. Ecstasy. A blinding f*ck that would erase everything but him from her mind for now. He needed all that passion focused on him. The passion she reserved for things he didn’t understand. This he understood better than anyone. And by taunting him with a title he didn’t want to hear from her mouth, she’d asked for what he could deliver. Answering that call should have been as natural as breathing, but with her, it felt more like a desperate, greedy consumption of oxygen.

Propped up on her elbows, mouth parted in shock, she was a meal for his eyes. The smugness had gone up in smoke, revealing a roaring fire beneath. Porter bared his teeth. Could she actually be angry, too? “Explain your attitude immediately.”

“Bite me,” she shot back.

Without hesitating, he flipped Francesca onto her belly and buried his teeth in the flesh of her backside. The leather seat muffled her scream, but it shook through her body and into his waiting mouth. Keeping his teeth fastened to her ass, he slid a hand beneath her hips, finding her *. Rubbing it, squeezing it, molding it with his palm.