The Fearless King (The Kings #2)(14)

“What’s your plan?” she cut in. Journey took a shuddering breath and raised her gaze to meet his. There was no covering up her fearful reaction, but she’d be damned before she let him question it.

Frank studied her with that implacable look of his. “I can get a lot of information on your old man without too much trouble, but at the end of the day, your family holds the key. By your own admission, the normal methods won’t work. I need to be closer to the problem.”

He’ll find out the truth.

She smothered the thought as soon as it skimmed through her mind. “Playing coy isn’t like you. There’s a solution you’ve already thought of. Stop hedging and spit it out.”

He sat back. “The only way they’ll let me through the door is if they think we’re dating.”

Dating Frank Evans? He was out of his goddamn mind. If Journey had a type—and she did—it was dashing metrosexual guys who didn’t have a chance in hell of overwhelming her. Safe guys, even if it didn’t look that way to the press or her brothers.

There was nothing safe about Frank.

He was too big, too controlled, too dangerous. She didn’t think for a second that he’d hurt her—at least not physically—but he’d already proven time and time again that she wouldn’t come out on top of their interactions. Putting them in any kind of intimate setting, even if it wasn’t real, was the worst idea she’d ever heard.

It was pretty intimate when he had his mouth all over you.

She focused on the stained-glass window to avoid looking at him. She couldn’t think with him so close, but that was Journey’s problem—not Frank’s. There had to be a way around this…but as the minutes ticked by, she couldn’t come up with a single one that would fit the situation’s needs as well as his solution. With a sigh, she nodded. “You want to fake date me to get close to the information you need to do the job.” It didn’t sound that unreasonable when he put it that way. “That’s simple enough.”

Frank raised a single eyebrow. “Duchess, you were coming on my mouth roughly twelve hours ago. It’s complicated, whether you want to admit it or not.”

She fought against the heat that threatened to spread up her chest. “Like I said before—that was just sex.” It hadn’t been sex, though. He’d tongued her through her damn panties, never giving her that much-needed contact. No matter how good the orgasm was—and it was beyond amazing—she’d wanted more. Admitting as much handed him even more power than he already had in this little exchange. She wouldn’t do it.

“Just sex.” No inflection in his words. He might as well have been talking about the weather.

She should get up and walk out. Journey had more than enough to deal with without letting Frank close enough to truly fuck up her life. It wouldn’t be personal—she was sure of that—but it wouldn’t take much for him to use this proximity to strike to the very heart of Kingdom Corp. Hell, she’d already all but paved the way for him.

She had no other options.

Elliott knew how she and Anderson operated—and how to use that to his advantage. No matter how strong she tried to be, he knew her buttons too well. She would break and bring Anderson down with her. Without Anderson, Bellamy and Eliza would topple like dominoes. Kingdom Corp would go down.

And it would be Journey’s fault.

In the end, she didn’t have a damn choice and they both knew it.

Journey held up a single finger. “I’ll agree—on one condition.”

“Duchess, this isn’t a negotiation.”

“It is now.” She pointed at him. “I agree to your terms, as long as you promise not to use any information you gather against my siblings or my company.”

The interest in his dark eyes sharpened, as if she’d just revealed more than she’d wanted to. Maybe she had. It didn’t matter as long as he agreed. Frank considered her for a long moment. “This won’t work if you’re so busy protecting yourself that you’re holding back information that will impede my ability to do this job.”

She almost laughed out loud at the thought. “If I had the smoking gun linked to my father, I would have done it myself.” No one cared about poor little rich kids whose daddy beat them. They didn’t care about the years of terror he’d inflicted on his children. Even if they did and were willing to listen, there was no proof. It was his word against theirs, and she already knew which way the media would swing if it came to that. Beloved scoundrel of the Bancroft family versus the children of uppity bitch Lydia King? It was no contest in the public eye.

“Then we’re agreed.” Frank held out a hand.

She shook because she had no other choice. Certainly not because she wanted to feel his skin against hers again. His calluses scraped lightly against her palm, making her wonder what a man like Frank did to gain calluses. He wore a three-piece suit in the middle of a weekday as naturally as most men wore faded jeans, and as best she could tell, he worked something like eighty-hour weeks.

None of my business.

Journey realized she still held his hand, and snatched hers back. She reached for her purse. “If that’s all—”

“It’s not.”

She froze. “I’m sorry?”

“Mira is about to bring us food, and then we’re going to have a conversation.” His lips twitched. If he were any other man, she’d assume she amused him. “Unless there’s a reason you’re leaving in such a hurry.”