Driven By Fate(31)

The woman who’d been dancing swayed closer to her one-man audience, crying out when his face became obscured between her thighs. Frankie’s pulse had only just begun to pound, liquid heat stealing through her body, when Porter led her away. They entered a hallway lined with red fixtures, bathing it in a sensual glow. The music didn’t get softer as they walked. No, it only grew louder. Or was that her own heartbeat? Part of her wanted this—the adventure of it, the illicitness of being in this dark place with the man who dominated her thoughts, ruled her body.

But something felt off. Wrong. Before departing the office, Porter had left the room to make a quick phone call and hadn’t spoken to her since. He held himself rigid, tense, which wasn’t unusual, but it reminded her of the first time she’d seen him. When they hadn’t met and he’d merely been an embodiment of sexuality laying out his tools. Tools he carried now. This wasn’t the man who’d given her a gift or kissed her with such incredible fervor.

Porter stopped at the very end of the hallway and led her into a dark room. When he flipped the light switch, it barely illuminated the space, just enough to make out several pieces of furniture.

And one giant, darkened window to her left. It was so large that it nearly encompassed the entire wall. Her reflection was a mere shadow with no features, no movement. It stared back at her, unrecognizable. The observation sent alarm shooting upwards from her toes, making her fingertips tingle. This didn’t feel right. Why were they in a room with a window? Hadn’t she put a question mark beside voyeurism on the limit sheet? Yes, she had. She’d put it there because she didn’t know anything about it, or what it would feel like. When Porter’s much taller figure loomed behind her reflection, she spun around, startled. He stared down at her, nothing but lust behind his eyes. Oh god. If she received no reassurance from him, where would she get it?

“Porter?”

“I’m only going to remind you once how to address me.”

His voice cracked across her cheek like a slap. However, that traitorous little pulse below her belt liked the way he spoke to her, wanted that dark, demanding voice in her ear, above her, behind her. Wanted to be punished by it. It was almost enough to eclipse her trepidation, but not quite.

Frankie took a step closer, frowning when he evaded her. For a brief flash, he looked almost nervous about being touched. “Why is there a window, my lord?”

His jaw ticked. “So people can watch us, Francesca.”

Her heart stuttered, wilting a little in her ribcage. Wasn’t this something they should talk about beforehand? She might have agreed, might have even been excited by it, had he just held her, walked her through it. He seemed almost determined to make it impersonal. Scary for her.

It was working.

I want to leave. She started to tell him, but was interrupted when her phone rang. Barely giving her time to process the sound, Porter removed her backpack in one swift movement, rooted through the front pocket, and drew out her phone. Without so much as a glance at the screen, he held the display up for her to see. Caroline Preston. Why was Jonah’s fiancé calling her?

“Answer it, Francesca. Answer it and let her tell you why I’m bad for you.”

Like a lock clicking open, everything made sense. There was a reason this scared her. That was the whole point. If he knew why Caroline was calling, he’d known to expect it. What had happened before she’d come over this morning? “I don’t want to answer. I only want to talk to you.”

That seemed to nick his armor, but he recovered so fast maybe she’d only been hoping for a reaction. “I’m done talking for now.”

As she stared up at him, willing his hard surface to crack, the phone stopped ringing. The silence that followed was a different shape than when they’d entered. It sizzled and spun, running around them in circles, making her dizzy, drawing her toward the damage she sensed inside him. If she could just tear through the wall he’d built, she could make this okay for herself. She could overcome her reservations and live in this moment. Trust. That’s what this was all about, right?

Hoping, praying that Porter would meet her halfway, Frankie took the cell phone from his hand and tossed it onto an armless leather chair, all without breaking eye contact. She took a step back and drew her shirt over her head, glad she’d forgone a bra. It was worth it just to hear his audible swallow. For the first time, she allowed herself to become aware of the faceless strangers behind the window, let their gazes warm her bare back. If she still felt some discomfort, she pushed it aside and removed her jeans, kicking them across the room. Exposing herself.

A boldness invaded her veins like a hallucinogen, tickling her throat, making her limbs feel light. Intuition she didn’t understand told her he wanted to inflict. Wanted to torture. He didn’t want her to welcome his treatment. Not completely. How could she when she had no idea what to expect? Her apprehension of the unknown kept her cemented to the floor as he advanced. His footsteps fell like boulders, according to her ears. When he stopped inches away from her partially naked body and let his gaze track slowly down her front, goose bumps broke out on every inch of her skin.

“How easily you put on display what’s mine.”

Trust him. Tell the truth. “Not easily. I just want to please you.”

His eyes closed briefly, his breath faltering. I have him. He’s back. Frankie’s relief was short-lived, though. When his eyelids came up again, they revealed how wrong she’d been. Somehow he’d managed to close himself off further, harden until he’d become unbreakable. Two halves of her soul warred inside her chest. One half begged her to run, to leave. The other told her to stay and ease his torment, repair him. To be the one who could do that for him.