Driven By Fate (2 page)

Chapter Two

This…girl is not my partner for the night.

Porter Evans paused in the act of removing tools from his leather bag to watch her enter the room. It was impossible
not
to watch her. Her expression spoke of a readiness to take on the world but her fingers were fiddling with a string hanging from her jeans. For the love of God, the sodding jeans alone were going to be the death of him. Had she purchased them in such a disheveled state or done it herself with a pair of scissors? Either method baffled him, but he couldn’t help noticing the skin each hole in the denim revealed. Soft, olive-colored skin. Italian skin. Marked skin. But not from the kinds of pursuits he engaged in. Her knees appeared to be scratched up from a fall of some kind.

Soothe her.
Porter was so surprised by the uncharacteristic urge, he dropped the flogger he’d been holding, immediately reaching down to straighten it without taking his gaze off the girl. His eyes tracked downward to light on her ancient pair of runners, enough dirt on them to suggest she’d earned those toned legs from physical activity. It didn’t excuse their hideousness.

What did excuse it? Big silver eyes. Yes, silver. They were the lightest shade of blue he’d ever seen. Not even enough to be
categorized
as blue. The contrast they created against her tanned skin was extraordinary, exotic, at total odds with her tomboy appearance. If she’d walked into Serve wearing leather, she never would have made it to this room, not if any other man in the building had a say in it. As it was, though, this ragamuffin—who couldn’t be older than twenty-two—had shown up in his room.

And she wasn’t his arranged partner. There was protocol that he always followed when arranging this type of thing and it included knowing what the woman looked like. Her limits. This was not that woman.

Was she attempting to pretend otherwise? Allowing this situation to go on any longer went entirely against his personality. He liked terms stated up front. Keeping an airtight schedule. Yet there was an insistent, undeniable need to let the charade play out, if she was indeed trying to fool him. Even if he didn’t quite understand why the need existed, it pulled at him with compelling force. The words that would break the spell refused to come.

“Do you need a reminder to remove your clothing?” He lifted his leather bag off the bed and set it down carefully on a nearby chair. “I can’t imagine why. It was very clearly stated in the terms that the clothes come off immediately.”

Her confidence wavered a moment before that stubborn chin lifted once more, sending long brown hair—in desperate need of a brush—sliding over her shoulders. Lust pooled low and heavy in his groin at that show of mettle. It only increased when she clutched the edge of her shirt and tossed it over her head. Onto the ground. Any other time, he would order his submissive to pick up the discarded garment and fold it neatly. He needed everything in its place, goddammit. But he couldn’t—
could
not
—tear his eyes away from the breasts she’d revealed. A groan even managed to slip from his mouth before he could catch it.

She was golden all over, everywhere but the pink tips of her nipples. An image of her arms stretched and bound above her head while he sucked those peaks made his cock rise in his pants. This had been a mistake, going through with the ruse. He was supposed to be appreciative, aroused, but never…tempted. These encounters were a healthy environment to exercise control over himself. Another person. But at that moment, his thoughts were anything but in control. There were…the beginnings of chaos.

“
Man
. Are you always this tense?” She swaggered toward the bed and hopped up onto the padded surface, making her breasts jiggle. “Seems like that should be
my
job considering you just picked up a horsewhip.”

He had? Porter looked down to find the leather object wrapped tightly in his fist. “It’s called a crop,” he enunciated. “And I don’t recall giving you permission to get on the bed.”

“Should I get off?” She reclined back, supporting herself with her hands. “Because that
actually
does
seem like your job.”

Porter’s restraint caved in on itself, causing reality to blur. In that moment, he forgot this wasn’t the person he’d
arranged
to see, but someone else entirely. Someone who obviously didn’t know what the hell she’d gotten herself into. The beautiful temptation that had chosen to defy him, to seek punishment. He was all too willing to oblige her.

He gripped her knees and yanked her off the bed, and a slight tremor passing through those limbs knocked some sense into him. Just not enough. He whirled her around until she faced the bed, aligning himself flush with her back.
Fuck
, she curved right into his lap. “I don’t think you heard me. You
couldn’t
have, since your ass if still being hidden from my eyes by these jeans.” He unsnapped the top button, savoring the way she gasped with awareness of who was in charge. Finally. “Maybe I should just rip them off you. Put them out of their misery.”

“
Fine
.” She sagged onto the table. “Just put me out of mine, too, please.”

She came into sharp focus then. Not just her physical attributes, which were more than enough to keep his attention. It was the plaintiveness in her voice, though, that captivated him. He’d only been in her presence for minutes and he knew this wasn’t someone who begged, or revealed weakness if she could damn well help it. Not unless she sorely fucking needed it. That need demolished him. For so long, he’d been playing out scenes, but they never felt real. She was real. She was
happening
to him.

“If you can’t do it, pal, I’ll find someone who will.”

“Over my dead body.” He cupped her upturned ass in his hands, where it fit like a dream. “There is a way I conduct myself—my pleasure—to make sure I don’t go too far. Or I
will
. Do you understand me? I’m not your beginner course.”

“I didn’t ask for one.” She looked at him over her shoulder, those silver eyes cutting right through him. “Everything, every
time
, feels like a beginner course. Give me the real thing.”

Nagging irritation sliced through him at the mention of her having other experiences. Elsewhere. With other men. Absurd, that. But poignant as hell, nonetheless. “You want a spanking? Or should I use one of my tools?”

Her back began to rise and fall rapidly. “Anything. You decide.”

“Those are powerful words to someone like me.” He drew the zipper of her jeans down and peeled the denim over her ass.
Jesus H. Christ.
Her flesh was a meal waiting to be eaten, all but glowing in the dim, reddish light, curving in a manner that demanded a man take her from behind. Often. Even her basic, no-frills panties made him hot. Porter took a fortifying breath. “Give me a safe word.”

“Um…” She blew out a breath. “Beetlejuice?”

He gritted his teeth. “Just don’t say it three times. I don’t feel like sharing.”

Her rich, feminine laugh made his stomach hurt, beyond the all-encompassing arousal he was feeling. Not in an unpleasant way. In an
, oh fuck,
kind of way. She was like a diamond being unearthed one sand granule at a time. God help everyone in the vicinity when she was fully revealed. “Who knew there was a sense of humor underneath all that black?”

He swallowed hard. “You know nothing about me.”

“Show me,” she whispered.

“Will I be showing you about me?” He slipped her panties over the curve of her backside. “Or yourself?”

As he waited for an answer he suspected wouldn’t come, he considered his tools. Why should they have the honor of landing on her skin the first time? His
hand
wanted that glowing skin all to itself. Wanted to make it glow hotter. Light as a feather, he let his palm glide over her supple bottom, closing his eyes to focus on her breathing, the way she pushed herself into his hand. A present wrapped in a bow. So he tore off the wrapping. He dropped his hand, shook it out once and flexed his fingers, before bringing it against her flesh in a biting slap.

She caught her breath on a sob, held it, and released it in a rush. “
Oh my god
.”

Porter wanted to lick the handprint he’d left behind. Another new, disconcerting urge he’d never experienced. God, everything about her, down to the sound his spanking made on her skin, was electric. He fought the sudden need to know her name, to
say
it, but he couldn’t ask because the jig would be up. “Is this your first time?”

She dropped her forehead to the bed. “First time I’ve had it done right.”

More irritation surged, but it was overshadowed by the desire to show her how right it could be. Leaning to the side so he could view her profile, he brought his hand down on her ass again, a touch harder than the time before. Her expression robbed him of logic, her beautiful mouth parting on a cry, eyes squeezing shut, fingers curling into the bed. “Finally came to the right place, is that what you think?” Her flesh reverberated with his next blow. “I’m sorry to inform you that this is most definitely not the right place for you. I have no patience for some wet behind the ears girl with a smart mouth.”

His words were partially drowned out by the pounding in his head. Liar. When had he become a liar? He could stand there all day making her flesh sting, soothing it. Putting rapture on her face.

“I won’t say another word if you keep going.”

After her whispered plea, Porter couldn’t help himself any longer. He spread his hands wide on either side of her on the bed and leaned down to plant a kiss on her backside. Hot, smooth. Gorgeous. “Oh, I’ll keep going. If for no other reason than to show you what happens when you walk into my room asking for things you don’t understand.” He trailed his thumb down the center of her ass, stopping just before he reached the damp juncture of her thighs. “Spread your legs. I’d like to know the exact color of your pussy before I make it cry.”

Her hips shook at the command, but she followed his instructions, tilting her ass up and widening her stance. He wished he hadn’t berated her for the way she talked, because when he expected her to speak and she didn’t, he craved the sound. Almost as much as his body craved her wet, rosy core, so sweetly presented for him. He rewarded her with a biting slap, right over the top of it. Another. Another. Quick, harsh smacks that caused that luscious button of flesh to swell with each strike.

She came
. Her smooth back twisted, legs shooting back together to press,
press
so tightly as she trembled, moaning into the bed. More than anything at that moment, he wanted to see her face. Wanted to…to kiss her mouth and soak in everything he’d made her feel. So easily. Almost no effort. The exquisiteness of her choked him, made him throb head to toe. He wanted the opportunity to do more, show her what he could do, but as soon as she stopped shaking, she was gone from beneath him. All he could do was step back and watch her, holding his breath. For what?

When she finally faced him, Porter almost fell to his knees. She looked like she’d been tied up and ridden for hours, slack and satisfied with eyes that should be staring up at a ceiling. His ceiling.

“Thank you,” she murmured, before stooping down to pick up her shirt.

It took him until she’d pulled on her pants to convince himself of what she’d said. “
Thank you
?”

She nodded, sending hair falling over one eye, but she shoved it behind her ears. “Yeah.” Both of her hands found their home in the back pockets of her jeans. “I should get out of here before the person you’re supposed to meet gets here, huh?” She turned toward the door, throwing him a wink over her shoulder. “Thanks for playing along.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You knew that I knew?”

Unbelievable. She didn’t even stop to answer him. He didn’t want to examine the panic drilling into his skull when her figure disappeared from the doorway, which was immediately filled by someone else—the tall, curvy redhead he’d actually been expecting. She stepped inside and went down on her knees, bowing her head. “Sorry, I’m late, Sir.”

No. Wrong. This was
wrong
. He wanted the girl back here.
Now
.

“Excuse me,” he said curtly, leaving the room. Without his tools. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t packed them just right, made sure they were in a secure place. Right then, he didn’t give two shits about anything but catching up with
her
. There. Sliding into the elevator like a phantom, slipping right through his fingers. He had no idea what he’d do when he caught up with her, because frankly, he didn’t understand the way she made him feel. He didn’t do well with the unknown. The idea of never seeing her again was worse, though. Much fucking worse.

He caught the elevator door just before it closed.

“Not so fast.”

Chapter Three

Frankie hadn’t lost a staring contest in her life. Not once. But dammit if this uptight British dude wasn’t about to hand her defeat numero uno.

She’d been stunned into silence when he’d followed her into the elevator, because
Hello
nurse
, she’d seen the redhead about to take her place. Her scrawny ass didn’t even rate. Yet here they were, still not speaking, sitting on a chaise lounge beside one another on the first floor of Serve while the crowd expanded around them. He’d ordered her a Coke from the waitress, which should have pissed her off. It would have, too, if she had any energy left in her body. He’d drained her of every last ounce. It was often theorized that people who were born blind didn’t know any better, so living without sight didn’t bother them as much as someone who’d lost their vision at say, age fifteen. An hour ago, she would have argued blindness was equally difficult in either case. Now? She had to admit there was some merit to the other theory. Because she couldn’t go back into the darkness. Not now, when she knew what it felt like to see.

It appeared as if the brit was waiting for her to crack, justifying her initial impression of him. Her neighborhood was chock full of cops and she’d gotten this same look growing up, when one of them wanted to know who’d hit the baseball through their window. This guy had some sort of law enforcement background, but she wouldn’t put her money on a police officer. Something more…ruthless.

“How long are we going to keep this up?” She drummed her fingers on her knee. “Not that I don’t find your company intoxicating, but I have to be back at work soon.”

“Where is work for you?”

“Ah, no. I conceded the staring contest, which wasn’t easy, by the way. The least you can do is answer first.” Damn. She’d never felt self-conscious about her job before. Something about the way he radiated disapproval and smelled like luxury made her hesitate. “British men are supposed to be polite, right? Don’t let me down.”

He showed no reaction. “I’m an antiques dealer.”

“And I’m Kevin Bacon.” She kept her gaze level as he reached into his pants pocket and drew out a business card, presenting her with it.
Porter Evans. Fine antiquities.
“What did you do before you sold antiques, Porter?”

His upper lip tugged. “Security. Of a kind.”

“Of a kind,” she muttered, tucking the card away in her jeans pocket. Not that she would be needing it again, but it seemed rude to return it. Before he could ask about her job again, she put out her hand. “Frankie De Luca.”

He eyed her outstretched hand. “You really think shaking hands is where we’re at here?”

“I have no idea where we’re at. I thought I was leaving.” Refusing to be embarrassed, she tried to snatch her hand back from where he’d left her hanging, but he caught it. Oddly, he looked as surprised as she felt that he’d made the effort. “Shouldn’t you be upstairs with Jessica Rabbit?”

“Yes, I should be. Is Frankie short for something?”

“Francesca.” He pressed his thumb to the center of her palm and sensation went rushing through her, centered between her legs. No way. She’d never been as satisfied as she’d been walking out of the room upstairs. It couldn’t be happening again already. “No one calls me that.”

“Perfect.”

She started to question that odd response, but the waitress set down a frosty pint glass of Coke in front of her and a tumbler of golden liquid before Porter. When she reached for the wad of bills she kept in her sock, he made a dismissive sound. “I’ve got a tab.”

Frankie wanted to protest, but the waitress was watching her closely. The price of a soda wasn’t worth the argument, but it still weighed on her. As soon as the waitress left, she picked up his glass instead of her own and took only a small sip. She had more driving to do tonight, but felt a point needed to be made. When she set the tumbler back down, Porter was watching her as if she’d danced a hula on the table. “You might have a tab, but I don’t like owing money to people. It’s why I came here tonight.”

His mouth formed a grim line. “You’re not working here.”

“I didn’t say I was. But it wouldn’t be up to you.” She leaned against the back of the chaise and crossed her legs. “You know, this is the weirdest conversation I’ve had in a while and I have a
lot
of those.”

“Right. At least I’m not alone in that respect.” He picked up his drink and took a healthy swallow. “Enough pleasantries. I want to know what you were doing in my room. Are you a member here?”

“No. Are you going to turn me in?”

He ignored her question. “How did you get upstairs?”

She couldn’t help an uncomfortable glance toward the nearest camera, mounted on the ceiling. “I had a meeting with Jonah.”

“Jonah.” A glint appeared in his eye. “I repeat, you’re not working here.”

“We’ve covered your lack of say in the matter.” She gave in and took a sip of Coke, feeling a tickle in her belly when his gaze zeroed in on her mouth as she sucked the straw. “I’m not here to make money, I’m here to pay it back. I owe money to someone and Jonah is holding my payments for me.”

“To whom do you owe money?”

“
’To whom’
? Don’t you need a monocle to speak like that?”

“You’re very funny for twenty-two.”

“I’m twenty-four.” She glared at him when she realized he’d sneakily gotten her age out of her. “It’s really none of your business, but I owe a debt to Oliver Preston.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, laughing without humor. “Unbelievable. I can’t get away from the son-of-a-bitch.”

“You
know
Oliver?”

“You could say that.” His entire demeanor changed, going from weary to rigid. “Why exactly do you owe him money?”

Frankie sighed into her Coke. Her debts weren’t exactly her favorite topic. Furthermore, why did it feel natural to disclose personal details to this near stranger?
Because as soon as he put his hands on you, the world started spinning the right direction.
She swallowed the cold liquid, but it did nothing to dampen the fire. “I’m the recipient of a scholarship in his mother’s name. I don’t want it hanging over my head forever. The money could have gone to someone else. Someone that didn’t get the opportunity. I need to close the gap I left behind by taking it.” She shook her head. “I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, except for the part about your leaving a gap.” He scowled at her. “What a dreadful way to think of oneself.”

Dreadful? Oneself?
“Maybe
monocle
should have been my safe word.”

…

Porter was a trained interrogator and yet as this conversation went on, his knowledge of the subject seemed to decrease, rather than increase. Odd, considering she didn’t seem inclined to hold back much information. Perhaps the feeling stemmed from him wanting to know more—and
more—
about her, this exasperating girl who appeared to be intent on making fun of him. When was the last time someone had made a joke at his expense? He couldn’t remember and had no idea whether or not he liked it. He only knew this conversation was far from over.

Owes Oliver Preston money, does she?
He didn’t like that at all. There was certainly no love lost between Porter and that tosser, although Porter rather thought Preston should thank him. If Preston’s now-fiancé, Eliza, hadn’t cozied up to Porter at Serve all those nights ago, Preston might have never found the brass to make his move. Porter found the grudge Preston continued to hold against him slightly amusing, considering he never would have spent more than one evening with Eliza. Or any woman at Serve, for that matter.

The sound of Frankie’s straw sucking up the last remaining liquid in her glass with a
slurp
brought him back to the present. Her ability to knock back a Coke in under a minute shouldn’t have made his gut tighten, but it did. Bloody hell, it did. Ravenous little appetite, this one. Twenty-four. Jesus Christ.

“Look, monocle man, this has been fascinating, but I simply
must
be going.” She said the last four words in an exaggerated British accent and stood, extending her hand once more. As if he had any intention of letting her go so easily, he took it, surprised when he felt crisp paper pressed into his palm. Money? He met her eyes. “For the drink,” she explained.

Then she was gone, ducking behind a dancing couple and vanishing into the crowd. No, no. That wouldn’t do. He still had too many questions. More than curiosity, though, there was the unquenched thirst she’d instilled in him. The sarcastic brat’s hands were tightening around his throat the further away she got from him. Porter let loose a string of vile curses and went after her, catching glimpses of her dark head as he attempted to catch up. He broke through the ocean of people just in time to see her reach the door and give an arrogant chin lift to the bouncer before exiting.

Porter followed her out onto the sidewalk, hand flexing at his side. He didn’t like chasing women. He liked putting them in one place and keeping them there. This female didn’t suit him. Not at all. His feet ignored his logic, moving faster in her direction, catching her arm just before she slid into a cab. Wait. The front driver’s side of a cab. What the hell was going on here?

Her head jerked around, silver eyes widening. Not nervous, thank god. Although he suspected if the sidewalks weren’t packed with passersby, she might be, and rightly so. What was he thinking, following this girl out of the club? But no, there were no nerves. Instead, she appeared mostly
surprised
that he’d come after her. How absurd. Yes, she happened to be annoying as all hell, but the fact that she had no idea how goddamn appealing she was…it made him wonder. Who’d let her come this far without telling her she was intelligent, stubborn, and yes…fucking beautiful? A woman that a man couldn’t simply let walk away.

She lifted an eyebrow. “You need a ride somewhere?”

He gestured to the automobile. “Don’t tell me you drive this thing.”

“Well, I can’t
fly
it.”

The nerve endings behind his right eye started to snap. “Francesca—”

“Frankie.”

“—hmm. You drive around and pick up strangers in the city. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?” He pressed two fingers to his temple. “Who allowed this?”

She backed up a step. “All right, man. I’m seriously starting to think you flew here in a time machine from, like,
Downton Abbey
times or something. I have to go.”

Time to cut the shit. This situation tonight had been unexpected, but at one time he’d thrived on the unexpected. Thrived on chaos. Time to get his head together and figure out just what he wanted from this encounter. Her. Yes, he wanted her. Furthermore, he had a way to accomplish that end. All it required was him pulling his head out of his ass. Objective number one? Convince her to go home safely and not pick up possible serial killers off the street in that yellow contraption. Two? Find a way to see her again so he could figure out why she seemed to…matter.

She jiggled her car keys. “The offer of a ride is about to expire.”

“I don’t need a ride,” Porter snapped, before taking a centering breath. “I do, however, have a proposition for you.” He expected another quip about his choice of language. Instead, her mouth parted, cheeks coloring. Her gaze dropped to his still-swollen cock, a hand rising to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. Such an endearing gesture, totally at odds with her confidence, making his fascination with her grow. “Come work for me.”

Her head came up. “
What?
”

“How much do you make driving this cab?”

“That question is more personal than a spanking.”

His right hand flexed just hearing the word, and the reminder it called forth.
God
, her sweet, round ass. “You need to pay back Preston. I need an assistant.”

“Oh no. No way.” Her laughter echoed on the dark street. “I am
not
working for you. ‘Can I light a fire in the hearth for you, my lord?’ Fuck that.”

He nodded at the cab. “Whatever you’re making driving this thing, I will double it.”

She opened her mouth, closed it. Opened it again. “This
thing
has a name, you know.”

“And that name is?”

“Delta Burke. I drove her across town once and she was delightful.”

“So you named your cab after this…person?” He held up a hand. “Never mind. Yes, I will pay you double what you make driving Delta Burke.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “What’s the catch?”

Porter took an experimental step toward her. Just like when he’d said the word
proposition,
her mask slipped and she turned into the girl she’d been upstairs. Breathless, green. Hungry for something she didn’t fully understand. She pressed back against the side of the cab, palms flattening on the door. An invitation to come closer? He took another step and she whimpered. Fuck’s sake. This girl needed more than a single, quick orgasm. She needed repeated fucking, and a man to ensure she received it. Cautiously, he allowed their bodies to align and she completely melted, her slight curves marrying his harder planes. His body took over, dipping and lifting to put his erection squarely between her legs. “The catch.” He looked her in the eye while he rolled his hips, absorbed her trembling response. “The catch is this. When the clock says five o’clock and your workday is over, the real work begins. You’ll spend the day making my cock stiff and the night relieving me.”