Driven By Fate (7 page)

She rolled the driver’s side window down, a breeze carrying her crushed-berries scent in his direction. “My business. I’m starting a business.”

He waited, but she stayed silent. “Why do you find it hard to talk about?”

“Do you have to call me on
everything
? I was getting there.” She sent him an exasperated look. “It’s a private cab company. For women.” Porter saw the exact moment she forgot to be self-conscious and allowed excitement to trickle in. “When a woman goes out at night in this city, she has two options for getting home. The train or a cab. Cabs are safer, but not always. You are essentially putting your safety in the hands of a stranger. There’s always a threat of assault or being taken somewhere against your will. I want to take
away
that fear and…at the same time, I want to make it easier for women to drive cabs. Be
safe
doing it. To make a living this way, like I do.

“Women drivers and women passengers. That’s the plan.” She plucked her cell phone out of the cup holder and shook it. “There will be an app. You can find my drivers in your area and request their car with a few taps on your screen. Door to door service. They wait until you’re safely inside your home before leaving.”

If he’d been in awe of her before, that admiration had just tripled. Brilliant. This young woman was fucking brilliant. If she hadn’t walked into his room at Serve, he would never have known she existed. Everyone should know about her. Everyone. When her confident expression wavered, he realized he’d been marveling over her in silence for too long. “Francesca, that’s quite good.”

“Quite good?” She shook her head. “I guess coming from you that’s high praise.”

Porter wanted to kick himself. “I meant to say…” He waited until she looked back over. “It’s a remarkable idea. I think it has the potential to change the world. At the bare minimum, this city.”

Her cheeks reddened. “You really go from one extreme to another, monocle man.”

They pulled up in front of the building where his meeting would take place, but Porter had no desire to leave the cab. “I’ll only be half an hour. Keep the meter running.”

She winked at him. “Planning on it.”

Porter tried not to rush through his meeting with a mid-nineteenth century instrument collector in the market for a Marquetry Grand Piano. Fortunately, Porter was able to deliver the news that he’d already procured the item from a French museum curator in dire need of funding. Easy. Compared to his old job, dealing rare antiques was a walk in the park. That’s why he’d chosen it. Low risk. Low commitment.

He returned to the cab half an hour later, to find Francesca leaning on the hood, reading the New York Post. “Hey, how did it go?”

“Exactly how it was supposed to go.”

She gave a low whistle. “Someone call the fun police to arrest this man.”

If she only knew what he’d been doing at her age—fighting in a war, existing from one battlefield to the next. Still, he felt the need to prove he wasn’t as boring as she thought. “All right. If your job is so much better, show me.”

She did a little drum roll on the cab’s roof. “Now we’re talking.”

It only took Porter three stops to discern a pattern, even as he made phone calls and attended to the paperwork he’d brought with him. After sharing her business model, he wasn’t surprised that Francesca tended to seek out passengers that required slightly more time and attention. An elderly man with a walker. Couples with kids. Women by themselves. He could see in the rearview the way she put them at ease with a warm smile, asking them which route they preferred. If she felt any self-consciousness at having him watch her work, she hid it well.

Porter wondered how she’d react if she knew how he struggled not to pull the car over and maneuver her out of those skin-tight jeans. Every time her ass shifted on the seat, his fingers itched to clutch that flesh. Smack it, lick it, soothe it. An hour into her shift, they were between fares, the cab empty in back. She removed her hoodie at a stop light, causing her shirt to inch up and reveal the tanned skin of her belly. Good god, it wasn’t even half past one. Nowhere near five o’clock.

“This wasn’t my best idea.”

Porter didn’t realize he’d said the words out loud until Francesca frowned at him. “If you’ll recall, I was against it.” She adjusted her hands on the steering wheel. “Anyway, I didn’t think it was all that bad. You seemed like you might even be enjoying yourself.”

“The day’s alternative was to enjoy your body, Francesca. This job of yours is interesting, but it doesn’t compare. You should be getting it for the third time by now.” He leaned close to tongue the side of her neck. “Fair warning. The third time is usually the roughest.”

Her breath shook. “You wouldn’t be enjoying my body yet, my lord. It’s not five o’clock.”

“What did I say about reminding me of the five o’clock rule?”

The lack of trepidation in her expression told Porter she’d known exactly what she was doing by bringing it up. Still, her tone taunted. “You can’t do anything about it right now, can you?”

He welcomed the rush of dominance that hardened him from the inside out. If she didn’t know what she challenged by now, she was bloody well about to learn. And it was going to be quite satisfying to teach her. Telling him access to her body wasn’t allowed only made him anxious to prove her wrong.

“My rule only applies to your working hours and you’re not on my clock right now.” Porter moved his hand to her denim-clad thigh. “You will pick up exactly one more fare.” Slowly, he slid his touch up her thigh until he could grip her pussy. Squeeze it until she gasped. “Wherever we end up, I will be laying you flat on this seat, stripping you from the waist down and orgasming you with my tongue. I’ll wager you’ll buck like a wild horse, won’t you? One that badly needs to be broken.”

“I can’t…you
can’t
—”

“Do
not
finish that thought. When it comes to you, I can and will.” With one final tightening of his hold, he removed his hand. “One more fare, Francesca.”

Chapter Nine

Frankie’s breath came in quick, too-small gusts, as if through a straw. Driving came natural to her, but with Porter’s commanding presence in the cab, she had to concentrate on every turn of the wheel, every lane change. A pulse pounded between her legs, awakened to a new, frantic degree. With his attention fastened on her, she wanted to push out her breasts. Wanted to part her thighs in unspoken invitation for another touch. If she thought it wouldn’t bring on more trouble, her own hand would already be there, palming and using the denim seam to her advantage.

Focus.
One more fare and then she could relinquish control of this situation. Logically, trusting him after such a short amount of time made her naïve. But there was a drum beat in her stomach, an absolute conviction that he would handle everything. His arm draped over the back of her seat, his thumb pressed firmly to her collarbone, one single connection of their flesh that inspired a dark confidence in the man. He would follow through on his word and there would be no consequences, save the ones he doled out. Frankie’s nipples hardened at the thought. What would he do?

Focus.

“I certainly hope you’re not prolonging this journey, Francesca. My patience is wearing thinner than your T-shirt.”

She felt his gaze, hot and focused, on her breasts. “There’s a method to my madness. I’m looking for a fare that’ll take us out of Manhattan.”

“Where there is less chance of being seen,” he finished.

“Bingo.”

The thumb on her collarbone pressed harder. “In my experience, women often play games. Pretend they aren’t craving it as much as the man. You aren’t one of those women, are you?” His hand dropped to her breasts, cupping them in turn. “You’re in need of my cock and don’t mind me knowing.”

She swallowed hard. “Does that turn you off?”

“Not a goddamn thing about you turns me off.”

Two blocks ahead, a tall, well-muscled man in his early thirties, stepped out into the street holding massive shopping bags labeled FAO Schwarz. There was a vague familiarity about his harsh attractiveness, as though maybe she’d seen him around her neighborhood. He carried himself like a cop, too. Squared shoulders, unconcerned about inserting himself into whizzing traffic. Sharp eyes, too, but they were kind. A family man. Probably not a Manhattanite, for her money.

“There,” she murmured. With a final brush of her nipples, Porter removed his touch and she pulled the cab over. The car literally dipped as the man climbed into the backseat, he was so big. Shopping bags were placed carefully on the seat beside him, even as he analyzed Porter’s unusual presence in the passenger seat. Definitely a cop. Porter’s gaze was locked in the rearview, too, taking the man’s measure. She’d already suspected Porter had a background in law enforcement and this only confirmed it. Their expressions were almost carbon copies. Almost. Possessiveness radiated from Porter and wrapped around her like fog.

“Where are you headed?” Frankie asked, starting her meter.

“Middle Village.”

He rattled off an intersection that happened to be only five blocks from her house. Queens. She’d had a feeling. “You got it.” They were almost to the bridge before she sensed the man settling back against the seat. “Picking up some presents for the kids?”

His face softened in the rearview. “Yeah, I went a little overboard. My wife is going to kill me, but that just means it’s Tuesday.” The paper bags rustled as his laughter boomed. “I can’t seem to pass a toy store without dropping a mint, anymore. It’s really their fault for being so friggin’ cute.”

Frankie’s chest seized with envy. Someday she’d have kids to surprise with toys. Someday. She felt Porter watching her closely from the passenger seat and schooled her expression. “How many kids do you have?”

“Twin girls. Four months old.” He shook his head. “They’re crying, pooping, spewing machines and they’re still a dream come true.” A beat passed. “Speaking of girls, I think you might be my first cab driver of the female persuasion.”

“Hopefully I won’t be your last,” she said, thinking of her business. “I have a feeling you’ll see more of us on the road soon.”

His silence was thoughtful. “My wife and sister love their nights out. I hate them. Mostly because of the trip back. I’d feel a lot better knowing you were driving them home.”

A smile pushed against her lips. Every time she heard this sentiment from a spouse, brother, or another woman, it gave her confidence a much-needed boost. Her presentation was next Friday. Next week was the future. However, that thought only made her more aware of her present. He loomed in the seat beside her, weighing every word that left her mouth. She risked a glance at Porter from beneath her lashes and, yeah, she hadn’t been imagining it. His intensity took hold of every cell in her body.

Frankie licked her suddenly dry lips and reached into the center console, removing her business cards. Not the cards she would eventually have made up, just personal ones she passed whenever a passenger gave her a good feeling. “My name is Frankie. Have your wife or sister call me on their next night out. If I’m on the road, I’ll swing by and get them.”

As they coasted to a stop at the specified address, the man took her card through the plastic partition. “Hey, thanks. This is great.” He stuck his hand into the front seat for her to shake. “Officer Brent Mason, at your service. You let me know if anyone gives you trouble,
capiche
?”

Frankie pretended not to notice the officer’s sidelong glance at Porter as he exited the cab, or the muscle jumping in Porter’s cheek. Having someone else visibly react to the danger she sensed in Porter made her wonder if she was being reckless. Going back to that first night when she’d spied on him through the door at Serve, the mystery around him had been evident. Her attraction to him seemed to have overridden any caution. Or was that just Porter on the surface? Did dangerous men give thoughtful antique toys to their romantic interests? It didn’t fit. He made her feel safe, even if she couldn’t explain why.

And she wanted him.
God
, did she want him.

“I know a place,” she whispered, looking up at Porter.

Was that relief that flared in his eyes? “Here I thought you might back out.”

Her heart started to pound. “Why would I do that?”

He dipped his head forward, making him appear a little sinister, but a lot sexy. “Don’t play games with me
now
. I can read every thought on your gorgeous face.”

Unbelievable. One compliment from him turned her inside out. She had no choice to make. Only Porter could provide the type of relief she needed, the kind she’d been seeking for so long. Denying herself, denying him, wasn’t an option. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

His Adam’s apple rose and fell. Her stoic Brit actually appeared taken aback by her returned compliment. “This is highly irregular, Francesca.”

“Monocle.” Jesus. She couldn’t look at him any longer. Not until they were alone. So hot. He was so damn hot. In a way that suggested he’d never considered why it mattered. Maybe he’d used it to his advantage with women, but never realized the effect of his smile or the deep scrutiny he pinned her under. She thought of his earlier words
. In my experience, women often play games
…

Frankie jerked the cab into gear harder than intended. No way was she jealous. That would be stupid.

Still, as she pulled into an outdoor storage facility, parking in a hidden spot behind the last locker, where high school students often made out at night, the feeling wouldn’t dissipate. The redhead from Serve popped into her head, her throaty voice calling Porter, “Sir.” Frankie’s face heated, her teeth ground together. This reaction was unacceptable. It warned her that she’d started to think of this diversion as special. Singular. It wasn’t. High time she reminded both of them.

“Here we are, Sir.”

Porter flinched. “What did you just call me?”

Her head of steam evaporated slightly under the weight of his reaction. “I think y-you heard me.”

Before she’d finished delivering her rejoiner, Porter flung open the passenger side door, stepped out of the cab and grabbed hold of her legs. He yanked, putting Frankie flat on her back on the leather bench seat. It happened so fast, she actually yelped. He knelt at one end of the bench, her ankles gripped tightly in one hard fist, the other hand working at the fly of her jeans.

“I promise you will regret that slip, Francesca.”

He stripped her jeans down her legs.

…

Porter embraced the vibrating dose of adrenaline, letting it coat his veins. Let it sink into his stomach and pull whatever heart he had left down with it. Angry. He was so angry and he didn’t give a fuck about the reason. He only knew his preoccupation with Francesca continued to inflate and he’d been forced to watch her go all soft over the mention of children. Family. Things he didn’t want.

He could give her this, though. Sex. Ecstasy. A blinding fuck that would erase everything but him from her mind for now. He needed all that passion focused on him. The passion she reserved for things he didn’t understand.
This
he understood better than anyone. And by taunting him with a title he didn’t want to hear from her mouth, she’d asked for what he could deliver. Answering that call should have been as natural as breathing, but with her, it felt more like a desperate, greedy consumption of oxygen.

Propped up on her elbows, mouth parted in shock, she was a meal for his eyes. The smugness had gone up in smoke, revealing a roaring fire beneath. Porter bared his teeth. Could she actually be angry, too? “Explain your attitude immediately.”

“Bite me,” she shot back.

Without hesitating, he flipped Francesca onto her belly and buried his teeth in the flesh of her backside. The leather seat muffled her scream, but it shook through her body and into his waiting mouth. Keeping his teeth fastened to her ass, he slid a hand beneath her hips, finding her pussy. Rubbing it, squeezing it, molding it with his palm.

“Yes. Yes. Oh…
god
,” she moaned, body writhing on the seat.

It wasn’t enough to make contact through her panties; he needed the real thing. He shoved the material down and teased her opening long enough to encounter wetness before shoving his middle finger into her tight, shaking heat. The perfect readiness of her forced him to loosen his bite on a groan. “Not as angry as you pretend to be, hmm?” He twisted his finger, grazing her inner walls with his knuckle. “Perhaps you’re just irritable because you can’t recreate the filthy, leg-shaking fuck I gave you last night. And you know no one else can either. Either way, you will explain your disrespect or I’ll leave this ache right where it is.”

“No,” she moaned.

“
Explain
yourself, Francesca.”

Her sob echoed throughout the cab. “I am
not
jealous.”

Porter’s head came up. Damn, he wished he could see her face. From his position above her, he could only watch her shoulders tense. “Of what or whom are you
not
jealous?”

“That redhead. I’m
not
jealous of her.”

The heart that had sunk to his stomach tried to buoy back to the surface, but he capsized it. Something wanted to breach his anger, but he wouldn’t allow that, either. The alternative here was…tenderness. A foreign concept. Swallowing something akin to guilt, he spun Francesca onto her back, glad to still see the sparks shooting from her eyes. Surely he’d only imagined the vulnerability in her voice. “Listen to me well.” Porter took hold of her panties, peeling them down her legs. “I didn’t even remember she had red hair. I don’t remember the night before that. Or the week before that.” He hooked his hands beneath her knees, dragging her to the end of the seat. Finally, he allowed his gaze to take in a sight he’d been craving since last night. “Not while I’ve got your tight, eager pussy waiting for my mouth to play with it.”

A whimper broke free of her lips before she caught it. “Please.”

“Oh, no. It’s too late to beg.” He licked down the inside of her thigh, used his hands to push her knees open. “I might enjoy every word, but I’ll enjoy denying you even more. Let’s see how desperate we can get you, shall we?”

He shoved her legs wide and latched onto her clit, massaging it with his lips and tongue. Lips and tongue. Opening his mouth wide and closing halfway on a French kiss of her dampening flesh. Her ass came off the seat and she gave a husky cry, but he anticipated the move and pushed her hips back down. Christ, she’d never been fucked correctly by a man’s mouth. He could hear the astonishment in her voice and it drove him on, made him relentless. His thumbs pressed hard into the sensitive area of her inner thighs, a ticklish spot he knew would send shockwaves to the delicious spot occupied by his tongue.

“Porter! Jesus,
Jesus
.” She twisted impatient fingers through his hair, hips tilting for more. “I’m going to…I can’t…”

His plan was to deny her. He couldn’t waver from it now that he’d said it out loud, told her what to expect. Fuck, though, he hadn’t gotten enough time between her legs. So sweet. So smooth. With a growl, Porter pulled away, one hand grappling with his belt buckle. “Greedy girl. You come too fast. Doubt that’s been a problem before, but it damn well is one with me, isn’t it?” He wrenched her T-shirt up and over her breasts. “Say yes. Say yes if you want my rock hard cock.”