Driven By Fate(42)

Porter’s footsteps creaked on the floorboards as he approached her from behind. She’d been standing there way too long, dragging a brush through her hair, staring into space. He placed a strong hand on her hip and that was all it took. Her brush paused mid-stroke and every cell in her body rushed to the spot he touched.

“Where do you keep your clothes?”

She shivered at the low pitch of his voice. “Why?”

His touch slid down, gathering the hem of her nightgown and lifting. “You’re not going downstairs in this. In fact, I’m taking it with me. You may only wear it at my home.” He tugged the garment over her head and, without turning around, she could sense him folding it. “Clothes.”

Since he couldn’t see her, she didn’t bother hiding her smile. “Middle drawer for jeans. Top drawer for shirts.”

His breath lifted the hair on her neck. “Panties?”

Heat tickled her belly. “The drawer beside the shirts.”

Frankie closed her eyes, listening to the homey sounds of him opening and closing her ancient drawers. She couldn’t recall a single time she’d stood naked this long. There was no self-consciousness, only awareness as he removed a pair of light blue underwear from her drawer and dragged them slowly up her legs, massaging her backside where his spankings had landed.

She’d always taken care of herself, would continue to do so as long as necessary. A leopard didn’t change its spots. But it felt unbelievable to let someone dress her, direct her, soothe her. Cherish her. Remove all responsibility. For now. Just for now.

Warm hands ghosted over her naked breasts, a kiss lingered at her shoulder. He placed her palms flat on the dresser and lifted her feet, one by one, into the waiting denim, before sliding her jeans up and over her bottom. As he zipped and buttoned her fly, his mouth moved over her ear. “I’ve never been more satisfied, Francesca, than I am after I’ve been inside your body. And still, I’m twice as desperate for you than when we started. It’s turning into a goddamn problem.”

He licked at her earlobe and she gasped. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re sorry,” he repeated, before a long pause. “I want to take you home with me.”

The intensity in his voice scraped over her raw senses. “I—” Spend the night with him? Was she willing to take that step? It felt so permanent. Oh, but she wanted to. Wanted very badly to wake up beside him, see him with stubble and bed head, make him breakfast while wearing one of his dress shirts. That yearning warned her it was a bad idea. The more time she spent, the more first experiences she had with him, would only mean more pain when this ended. His leaving was inevitable, if their affair didn’t end first. “I have early classes tomorrow,” she said. “I can come over afterward.”

His mouth was no longer at her ear. In her peripheral vision, she saw his hand grab a shirt from her drawer, the movement brisk. “I won’t be there.”

Those four simple words threatened to close off her throat. She turned to face him, trying not to show on her face the alarm bludgeoning her insides. “What?”

Porter pulled the shirt over her head, obscuring her vision for a second. “I have a business meeting in Miami tomorrow evening. It’s only for one night.”

Not London. Just one night. Thank God.

He reached a hand out, presumably to clear the hair from over her eyes, but he stopped, looking at his outstretched hand as if it had operated on its own. It dropped back to his side. “I was going to ask you to come with me. As my assistant,” he rushed to say. “I know you won’t take a free trip.”

“But you aren’t now? Going to ask me?” Of course, he wasn’t. What a ridiculous question. She’d just refused to spend the night at his house. Why would he assume she’d say yes to Miami?

Because I don’t want to be away from him. The last three days had been harder than she’d ever expected. Another one so soon weighed like lead on her shoulders. But there was more. There was jealousy. This man, this sexually dynamic man, in Miami alone. Even the idea of women looking at him, wanting him, lusting after him, made her crazy. The emotion was so unlike her, yet stronger than anything she could remember. Mine. My man. My Dominant. “I want to go.”

His gaze narrowed. “You do.” It wasn’t a question. “Why?”

Her chest ached with the need to tell the truth. Was he compelling it out of her? “If I could go back to that night at Serve, I’d sock that redhead right in the face. I hate her,” she whispered. “I hate all of them.”

A flash of surprise crossed his face, before it disappeared into a scowl. “Honestly, Francesca. I’m beginning to think you don’t listen when I speak. No one from that night exists in my memory, save one mouthy girl in ripped jeans.” He tucked his shirt into his own jeans, muttering something about the rain and smiles. “Take that feeling you have about the redhead and multiply it by one thousand. You might just come close to how I felt watching those f*ckers manhandle you outside. And does this mean you’ll come?”

“Yes.” The wings in her chest flapped wildly. “I’ve never been to Florida.”

He laughed. It was over way too fast, but she’d heard it. Rich, throaty…a little rusty. Obviously, he’d heard it, too, based on the way he wouldn’t look at her now. “Yes, well. It’s decent enough, although it’ll be a quick trip. Airport, hotel, dinner.”