The Fearless King (The Kings #2)(38)
It took two tries to get her words into the air between them. “What are you talking about?” she repeated.
“You’re going to marry Asher Bishop, linking our future with Cardinal Energy, both in family and in business.”
Chapter Ten
Frank walked into the hotel lobby approximately thirty minutes after Journey called. Regal Legacy Hotel and Spa was one of the fancier properties that had gone up a couple of decades ago, parked right in central downtown Houston. It boasted some of the biggest events in the city throughout the year, in addition to the spa being a draw for the rich and bored when their lives got to be too stressful.
He found Journey in the bar off the main lobby, staring into a glass of whiskey. There was no one around this time of day, so Frank strode through the empty tables and slid onto the next bar stool over. He ran a critical eye over her. In the few hours since he’d seen her, she’d lost the slightly rested look she’d acquired over the weekend, but she wasn’t close to her breaking point, as best he could tell. “Strange place for a meeting.”
“Is it?” She shrugged a single shoulder. “We’re supposed to be newly dating. It’s not out of the realm of possibilities that we’d meet up to bump uglies.”
“Bump uglies. Is that the technical term?”
Journey twisted to face him. She’d changed clothes since he saw her last, and now she wore a knee-length body-skimming deep blue dress with a square neckline. Again, she wore fuck-me shoes, this time strappy black ones that crisscrossed at her ankles. The dress shone slightly in the low light, an invitation to touch that he had no business taking her up on. Her breath hitched and he watched her nipples press against her dress. She let loose a soft curse. “How can you look at me like that and kiss me like you mean it and then just…walk away? Am I really that disposable to you?”
Surprise had him speaking ill-advised words. “Not disposable. Never that.” He motioned for the bored-looking bartender to give him the same drink Journey had. “I meant what I said over the weekend—I want you in my bed because you want to be there, not because you’re hurt and looking for a parachute while in a free fall.”
“Frank.” Her smile made something uncomfortable twang in his chest. “I’m never not in a free fall. Most days I just hide it better. Maybe I had a chance at being healthy once, or maybe that option was taken from me a long time ago, but the end result is that I’m stuck in a cycle of maintaining and clusterfuck. The clusterfuck times have been decreasing over the years, and getting further and further apart, but all it took was a few specific dominoes lined up, and down I go.” She mimed tipping the first domino. “So if you’re waiting for the stars to align and me to be in perfect emotional health before you fuck me…I hope you’re not holding your breath.”
Layers upon layers in those words. Frank didn’t do well with broken things. Discarded, things, yes. He excelled at seeing the strength in people despite their circumstances and offering them the opportunity to stand on their own—and he obtained their undying loyalty in the process. Loyalty was just another kind of power. He didn’t fix people. He didn’t even know where to start. The one time he’d tried—with his mother—her spiral had taken her to a place so dark, there was nothing he could do. She died, and he learned his lesson. Never again. “Duchess, you need a white knight. I’m not that. I’m never going to be that.”
She picked up her glass and drained half of it. “I don’t need a knight, Frank. I need a goddamn sword and the skills to save myself. I’ve played the part of damsel in distress. It’s not a comfortable fit for me.” She met his gaze steadily, a tangled mess of emotions lurking in those hazel eyes. Anger. Fear. Despair. Desire. “Know anyone who makes a mean suit of armor?”
She’s not asking me to fix her.
He nodded in thanks at the bartender when the woman deposited a second glass of whiskey in front of him. “I know what you think of me, but I’m not in the business of dealing harm to those who don’t deserve it.”
“Who said I don’t deserve it?” She huffed out a soft laugh. “God, Frank, you should see your face. So serious. I’m not asking you to fuck away all my broken edges. I’m telling you that I’m an adult and can make my own decisions and accept the consequences. I want you. You want me. There isn’t a single reason we shouldn’t be upstairs in a room right now having outstanding sex.”
Why was he fighting this so hard?
You know why.
He downed his whiskey. “We need to have a conversation about why you called me today. I’ll get us a room so we can have some privacy for it.”
“Conversation, sure.” She set her empty glass next to his.
Damn it, the woman drove him out of his fucking mind. Frank captured her wrist, forcing her to look at him. “You’ve said your piece, and so have I. Ultimately that changes nothing. This is a business deal, Duchess.”
The desire died in her eyes, leaving only the toxic mix of fear and despair. “I hear you, Frank. Loud and clear.” She turned and strode away, leaving him staring after her.
Goddamn it, he was making the right call. It didn’t matter how her ass filled out that tease of a dress or how good she smelled or how badly he wanted to do whatever it took to chase the darkness from her eyes and make her forget for a little while. It wasn’t his job. His job was to find Elliott Bancroft’s weak spot and exploit it enough to banish the man from her life.