The Fearless King (The Kings #2)(6)

A laugh slipped free, a breath of fresh air clearing away some of the taint that had crept into her heart in the last hour. “Honey, it would take more than two to get me there. I’m no lightweight.” Escaping her past would be so much easier if she could drown it out with only a few shots. Unfortunately, her entire family had too high of a tolerance for alcohol to make drinking her problems away an easy thing to accomplish.

He let go of one of her thighs and gripped her chin, his fingers little pinpricks of pain that had her hips moving restlessly against his. Frank met her gaze. “We all have demons, Duchess.”

Not like me.

She couldn’t handle kindness. It was too close to pity for the throbbing nerve she’d become in the months since the last phone call with her father. Having his barely veiled poison dripping in her ear was like standing on the tracks and feeling the first vibrations of an oncoming train. She’d instinctively known that call wouldn’t be the end of it, that he’d play out one of his little games the way he had when his children were at his mercy—the kind of game that ended in blood and broken bones and psychological damage that a lifetime of therapy couldn’t quite banish.

But instead of facing the ugly truth, she’d wrapped herself in comforting lies. He’s gone. He’ll never come back. We’ll never be at his mercy again.

Look where that got her. Throwing herself at one of the few people in Houston who actually had the means to bring down Kingdom Corp—and would do it without a second thought if she gave him an in. Awesome job, Jo. Way to make good life choices.

Pressure clamped her throat, a curious burning rising with each ragged inhale. Oh God, I’m going to cry. Journey pushed on Frank’s shoulders. “This was a mistake.”

He hesitated but finally released her and stepped back, keeping one hand on her hip as if to ensure she didn’t crumple at his feet. Since her knees were a little wonky, it was a good call. Her lips felt bruised and swollen, her neck tingling from his rough five-o’clock shadow, her thighs quivering from the feeling of him gripping her there.

She turned and grabbed the door handle. Frank was still too close, too big, too overwhelming. She could feel his gaze on her back. Waiting.

All she had to do was turn the doorknob and walk out of the room and he’d let her go. He’d given her a taste of what it would be like to take him to bed, and she didn’t know if she’d survive it. Frank had all the markings of a control freak with a short leash, but there was no leash in evidence with his mouth against hers.

Which is the real Frank?

Does it matter?

She opened the door and looked into the hall. Half a dozen steps to the stairs leading down to the club where the pulsing beat of the music called.

Freedom. Or another kind of cage.

In the end, it didn’t matter.

She shut the door and very deliberately locked it. I choose this. If I choose nothing else, I choose this, right here, right now. Journey unzipped the side of her dress as she turned to face Frank. He stood in the exact same place, watching her the way a hunting dog watched a wounded bird fall from the sky.

She slid her dress off her shoulders and down her body to step out of it, leaving her in only a black satin thong. She hooked her thumbs in the band, but Frank gave a sharp shake of his head. “Leave them on.”

He crossed the distance between them in a single step, planting one hand against the door next to her ear. He didn’t touch her, but his heat seemed to wrap around her, negating the chill of the air-conditioning. “Say no at any point, and this stops. No questions asked. I’ll get you in that cab and make sure you get home safely. End of story.”

She could have laughed. Who would have expected Frank Evans to have anything resembling an honorable streak, let alone with her? Journey reached up and very deliberately unbuttoned the front of his shirt. “Yes, Frank. I say yes.”

*



Frank should have backed off the second he realized Journey was walking wounded. He should have done exactly what he’d originally planned and sent someone to escort her home to ensure she didn’t do something she’d regret in the morning. He should have done a lot of things.

None of that mattered with Journey’s French-tipped nails unbuttoning his shirt in a frenzy, as if she couldn’t bear another second without their being skin to skin. She needed something, and he was in a position to give it to her.

What happens in the morning?

He kissed her to silence the voice of reason. There were a thousand better ways tonight should end, but Frank didn’t give a fuck. She’d given him a taste and then had the audacity to look up at him with shadows in her eyes and say yes. He was a bastard and a half, but he intended to give her everything she asked for and more.

She shoved his shirt down his shoulders, bringing them chest to chest. If clothed Journey King was a source of temptation he’d never been able to combat, seeing her standing in his office wearing a little tease of a black thong…

No words.

Frank took two steps forward, bringing them solidly back against the door again. The rough contact seemed to center something in her, and her hesitance vanished. She arched against him, tilting her head back to offer her mouth. He bypassed her lips and dragged his mouth along her jaw to her ear. “I won’t mark you anywhere that can’t be covered.”

“I don’t care.” She went for the front of his slacks, expertly undoing the hook and pulling down the zipper. “I don’t want to think for a little while. Just keep touching me.”