Driven By Fate(49)

Warmth. Liquid warmth unfurled between her legs, inviting him. He knew, too. Knew exactly what he did with his skillful touch. She could see his face reflected in the elevator doors—jaw hard, eyes on fire. So much want.

They stepped out onto the eighteenth floor and hung an immediate right. For each step Frankie took, her heartbeat pounded ten times, her breath raced. They turned once more…

…and came face to face with the Southerner from the lobby.

In his drunken state, he appeared to be searching his briefcase and pockets for a room key. Porter stiffened beside her in degrees. God, no way would she be able to stop another confrontation. One had been tricky. Two? No way. Testosterone was all but visible in the thickening air around her.

“Where is our room?” she asked, hoping to distract Porter.

A muscle ticked in his cheek. “Here,” he said, indicating the room beside the Southerner’s.

Frankie pried the key from his fist and led a resistant Porter toward the door, just as the other man stood, swaying on his feet, a key pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“Found it,” he announced, beaming at them. His smile dimmed a little, however, when he recognized them from the lobby. Still, he shook the key at Frankie. “Here on business, huh? Staying in the same room with the boss sounds more like pleasure to me. You must be some secretary. Worth every penny.”

She sidestepped just in time for Porter’s body to come up against her back, blocking him. It would cost him zero effort to move her, so she tried to think fast—so hard to do when several feelings were sweeping her at the same time, frustration chief among them, and continually thwarted desire. But something else crept slowly to the forefront, something seductive, smoky yet highly concentrated. She knew Porter wanted to fight on her behalf, to correct the disrespect this man had shown her, but she wanted him to take possession of her in a different way. Memories of the room at Serve bombarded her, potent memories of what it felt like when she’d believed Porter was going to take her in front of other people. Other men. Dense, impenetrable lust took over her body, her mind.

Acting on instinct, she took Porter’s hand and led it between her thighs. And like she’d answered an unspoken call, he groaned into her hair, cupped her needy flesh. The other man fell back a step, his breath beginning to rasp past his lips.

“He’s my boss in more ways than one,” she said, barely recognizing her own voice.

“Jesus Christ, Francesca.” Porter’s erection grew huge against her bottom. His middle and ring finger found her clit through the lace panties and pressed down. “Get into the f*cking room,” he ground out. “We’re talking about this.”

Still flush with her back, Porter walked her toward their hotel room door, passing the Southerner, whose jaw hung in the vicinity of his feet. Porter ripped the key from her hand, then guided her into the room a second later. The door slammed behind them, but Frankie kept moving. There it was…an adjoining door. She walked toward it.

“Don’t even think about it,” Porter near-shouted behind her.

Knowing she was playing with fire, she ignored him, flinging open the adjoining door. The pressure in her head eased when she saw the latch, a latch identical to the one on the main door. If their neighbor unlocked his door, the latch would allow him two inches of visibility, without allowing him entry.

Understanding dawned on Porter’s face, his hands coming to rest on either side of the doorjamb, caging her in. “I don’t need this.” His voice resonated with intensity, reaching past every wall she’d ever built and holding her captive. “We don’t need this.”

She unbuttoned the top two buttons of her dress, feeling daring. Confident. Like someone else had inhabited her body and she never wanted her to leave. “No, we don’t need it. But I felt you against me.” Another button. “You told me I know you better than anyone? You’re right. And you want to show him who owns me. Don’t you, my lord?”

“Yes. Yes. He wants what’s mine.” Sweat beaded his upper lip, breath rasping in his throat. His head fell forward and lifted again, closer this time. The doorframe protested under his grip as he studied her mouth, her body. His bulging arousal brushed her belly, making it shudder. “If he touches you, I will break his arm. I mean what I say Francesca. No touching.”

“I only want you touching me.”

“Your—” He cut himself off to kiss her, a sinful kiss with enough tongue to send more warmth to the juncture of her thighs. It reached deep, tasting her, possessing her. “Your clothes stay on. And you’ll tell me if it’s too much. Please understand I will not handle it well if you grow upset. I will not. Promise me you’ll use your safe word.”

A throbbing started in her throat, sinking lower. “Yes, I promise,” she gasped as he sucked her nipples through the thin denim dress, rough hands kneading her bottom. Somehow she mustered enough focus to rap softly on the adjoining door and a moment later she heard the latch turn with a click. Before the last bit of coherency could flee, she reached over and turned the handle. Time seemed to freeze as the door opened, then banged to a stop when the latch caught it, jarring her back against the cool surface.

The change overcame Porter in an instant. Like a panther guarding his mate, his shoulders tensed, his handsome face turned impassive, almost stoic. They were both aware of the figure that moved and stopped just beyond the door, but neither one of them turned to acknowledge him. Porter’s attention became so centered on her that she became conscious of nothing but him.