Driven By Fate(45)

Okay, daring was a stretch. After class that morning, she’d stopped into the Macy’s on Woodhaven Boulevard and picked up two dresses she really couldn’t afford, but still on the cheap side compared to most of the surrounding price tags. For the trip, she’d worn a light denim shirtdress, paired with her knee-high leather boots. She’d left her hair down, too, which the wind seemed to be getting a big kick out of.

She’d refused Porter’s offer to send a car service for her, grabbing a ride with one of the guys instead. Trips to JFK were usually on their itinerary anyway, so it wasn’t out of their way, assuaging her guilt for asking. Unfortunately, she’d arrived earlier than their agreed upon time of one thirty, leaving her ample time to think, an activity she’d done plenty of since the night before. Something had changed between her and Porter, but hell if she knew exactly what. Sometime around three o’clock that morning, she’d come full circle to where she’d been before they’d gone downstairs—downstairs to where Porter had looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. Or the last time.

Don’t think about him going back to London. Enjoy the here and now. That’s all she’d come up with.

“Francesca.”

Everything changed when she heard him say her name. There was a note of awe in his tone, appreciation. It stirred up a chemical reaction in her body, sending a fizzing river of champagne through her middle. Underneath the exultant bubbles, though, was something deeper—a need to hear him say her name constantly, forever. She didn’t want to ignore the idea of him leaving. She wanted to prevent it. Starting today. Now.

Frankie turned and watched Porter stop in his tracks, gaze traveling from the hem of her dress, up and over her hips, to linger at her breasts, her neckline. Devour. That was what his expression said. The lace material between her legs dampened as they stood staring at one another, yards apart. Oblivious to the crowd streaming along the pathway, Frankie didn’t think, she simply dropped her backpack and went to him, the man who took care of her when she got aroused. He took a step just before she reached him and yanked her up against his body. Their mouths stopped a breath apart, eyes locking.

“How long have you been standing there with your thighs showing?”

“It’s windy,” she breathed. “Can you kiss me now?

“No.” He fisted the hem of her dress and tugged it down. “No, I’ll be thinking of your thighs wrapped around my head until we land. You can go without your kiss as punishment.”

“I missed you. You’re grumpy and your rules are pointless and I missed you.”

He stared at her hard, letting his arms fall away. “Get inside.”

Ignoring the stab of disappointment, she peeled herself away from his hard body. She felt him watching her as she retrieved her backpack, heard his growl as she bent over to pick it up. When she straightened, her back encountered his chest. She hadn’t even heard him move.

“I missed you, too.” His voice was hoarse against her ear. “Now, inside with you.”

The check-in process was interminably slow, probably because she knew they had a whole flight, plus drive time to the hotel, before they could be together. They were led to a shorter security line because Porter had booked first class tickets, but with his hand settled just beneath her hip, the line might as well have been a mile long. As they waited for the flight to board, she leaned into Porter’s chest where he’d propped himself against a pillar, closing her eyes as his big hand massaged her scalp. They didn’t say a word until ten minutes after take-off. It felt unnatural to stay silent so long, but she suspected he was still a little stunned over his admission outside the airport.

They’d missed each other. It had to mean something, right?

If she wanted him, wanted to keep him, she had to believe it did.

Frankie slipped her backpack out from under the seat and removed her presentation notes. Tomorrow morning she would miss class, which had essentially turned into a study hall since they were approaching finals. She’d planned on using the flight to go over her presentation, but Porter’s scribbling onto a yellow legal pad distracted her.

“What are you writing?”

His pen paused. He used it to scratch the back of his neck. “Just some business matters we’ll need to get in order when we return.”

She’d never seen him make the gesture before and it made her suspicious. A man like Porter rarely made a movement unless it had a purpose. Hmm. “Business matters. Such as?”

“Why are you being so inquisitive?”

“Because you’re bluffing.” She grinned at his forbidding look. “There’s a reason I clean my uncle and his friends out at poker every Tuesday.”

“Poker night,” he muttered. “I assure you, it’s nothing.”

Frankie put up her hands. “If you say so, monocle man.” Whistling under her breath, she flipped open her notebook. “But I’m not going to give you your present.”

“Present?”

“It’s nothing,” she said, waving him off.

A full minute of silence passed. “I’ll decide if it’s nothing.”

Maybe this had been a bad idea, because honestly, compared to the antique taxi cab he’d given her, the present was nothing. Just something she’d dug up last night after his odd departure had left her in such a restless state. Actually, no way in hell was she giving it to him. Why hadn’t she just kept her stupid mouth shut? “Forget it. Scribble on your pad. Business matters. I believe you.”