Driven By Fate(47)

“You know me better than anyone, Francesca.”

Her smile faded in degrees, but the light stayed in her eyes. Jesus, what had possessed him to say something like that? Possibly because it was the truth and he didn’t appear to be capable of giving her anything else. She must think him pathetic. They’d known each other all of a week and already she was closer to him than anyone he’d had in his life prior to now.

She broke his stare, looking down at the pad. “Can I read it?”

He’d already gone this far. What the hell? “I suppose.”

Her lips twitched as she leaned back in her seat and started to read. Minutes passed with him staring at the seat back in front of him, trying not to ask her what she thought. For all he knew, the story he’d created—about politicians using local mobsters to sabotage one another—was complete and utter shite. Should be burned to ashes at the earliest opportunity. When he’d finally reached his breaking point, she slipped a hand inside of his.

“It’s really good, monocle man.”

Tension ebbed from his shoulder in degrees, her genuine approval relaxing something inside him he hadn’t known was constricted. The flight went quickly after that. When they landed, he rather wished it were a bit longer so he could go on holding her hand. Halfway through the flight—over Virginia, he suspected—he’d grown used to her soft hand cradled in his. He still felt the need to further the touch, to use his grip to drag her onto his lap or remind her with a tightened hold that he led her where he wanted. And when. But there was pleasure in her show of trust, too. It contented him. For the flight, anyway.

Watching her sliding into the back of the town car that would take them to their hotel ignited the appetite he’d managed to keep in check. Her thighs flashed, taunted. The thin denim stretched over her breasts as she locked her seatbelt into place. Fuck. They wouldn’t take two steps into the hotel room before he filled her full of cock. He’d be thrusting between those thighs so often that night, they’d have burn marks on the soft insides by morning. On the ride to the hotel, she knew exactly what he was thinking, too. She sent him glances from underneath those long eyelashes, her little nipples turning to points inside her dress.

Porter brushed his palm over one of the peaks, breathed into her ear. “I’d planned to take you on your back, so I could kiss you while we f*ck.” He squeezed rhythmically. “But when you look at me like that, all I can think of is bending you over. Is that what you’re asking for with those big, gorgeous eyes? You want me dripping sweat onto your back as I pound into you like an animal?”

Her breath hitched, fingers curling into the hem of her dress. “I don’t care which way,” she whispered. “But we have all night, so I’m going with both.”

How could he be so damn turned on and still want to laugh? “Have I created a monster?”

“I’ve created one, too. That’s the second time you’ve teased me today.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, pulled back with a flush climbing her neck. “There’s hope for you yet.”

Good Lord, I’m…in love with her. I’m in love with her. Porter fell back against the leather seat, heart beating wildly inside his chest. The interior of the car widened and narrowed, making him feel inebriated. With no idea how much she could discern by his expression, he quickly focused on the traffic whizzing alongside them. He could feel her watching him, but couldn’t return her stare. Not just yet. Not until he figured out what to do about this unexpected turn of…events. Because it was nothing if not an event.

A demanding hum started in his stomach, eventually turning into an earthquake that dislodged pieces of him, one by one. What to do about it? What to do? He’d always had a solution for everything, but there was no satisfying answer to this. She wanted things he couldn’t give. He wanted his old life in London back.

Didn’t he?

They pulled up outside the hotel. Porter pushed open his door before the car had come to a complete stop, circling around back to open Francesca’s side. The scent of suntan lotion, coconut, and ocean breeze hit him, so light and out of place when dark unknowns swirled in his stomach. She took his hand to exit the car and he couldn’t help it…couldn’t stop himself from gripping her fingers hard, hard. Her answering whimper had the effect of a hammer blow to his midsection. I’m the worst man for her. I’m blaming her for making me love her.

“You keep disappearing on me, Porter.”

God, he was f*cking this up. “Just distracted by the meeting later.”

She nodded, but still looked dubious. He didn’t blame her.

“Come on, let’s get inside.”

Porter took their bags from the driver and followed Francesca into the lobby, memorizing the way she took everything in, the way she turned in a circle, tucking hair behind her ears and attempting to appear casual, like she’d been there a million times and simply wanted to check up on operations. A New Yorker to the bone. At that moment, he wanted to take her everywhere in the world, to places he’d been that had become stale and boring, just another paycheck. He wanted to go back with Francesca and watch her, to hand her those experiences and see what she did with them.

He realized he’d been standing in the entrance watching her for far too long. Ignoring a curious look from the bellhop, he strode after Francesca and set their bags beside a lounge chair.