Driven By Fate Page 7

  “Do you really have an appointment uptown?”

  “Is your uncle really ill?”

  Frankie’s mouth dropped open.

  Porter reached over the closed it with a single finger. “Right. Now that we’ve both accused each other of being liars, I have something else for you.”

  “A gift?”

  “Yes.”

  She eyed him warily. “I don’t like gifts.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I didn’t pay for them.”

  He raked her body with a look. “Very well. I shall make you pay for it.”

  Tingling heat blossomed between her legs. She thought of how he’d chased her last night. Made her submit. How much pleasure she’d derived from it. “I should take offense to you implying I’ll pay for that gift with my body, but the truth is, I don’t really care. I just want you to take me again.”

  His gaze darkened. “You tell me this now? When we’re about to embark on the world’s longest cab ride? I should carry you upstairs for a punishment this minute.” He moved closer on the leather bench seat. “You haven’t even begun to be taken by me. Last night was a preview.”

  Oh God, his mouth was right there. Right there. “You wanted honesty, but you’re mad at me for giving it to you?”

  “Not angry.” He took her hand. Before she discovered his intention, he’d pressed her palm to his huge erection. “Not angry, Francesca. Aching.”

  She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs were on fire. His weight felt so good in her hand, but she was afraid to move, in case she caused more discomfort. “I’m sorry.”

  “I had no intention of coming inside your tight, choking pussy just once. If you hadn’t left, you’d have been bent over, put on your knees, tied up and ridden within minutes.” He swelled larger in her hand. “I’m very rarely satisfied after coming once, Francesca. With you, I expect it will require much more.”

  “Th-there you go, complimenting me again,” she whispered. “Can I have my one kiss now?”

  “Using it up so early, are we?”

  She shivered at the gruff way he spoke. “I thought of a way around that rule.” When he pushed himself against her hand, she couldn’t stop herself from stroking. “You only give me one kiss. But what if I gave you two? Technically, we wouldn’t be breaking any Porter Commandments.”

  Thoughts raced behind his eyes. “I’ll think about it.” He made a savoring sound, just above her mouth. As if he’d just taken a bite of warm, chocolate lava cake. Mmmm. “It might help your cause if you accept the gift I brought you.”

  “My cause?” She narrowed her gaze. “I seem to recall you didn’t mind kissing me.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  Damn. She was back to kind of liking him. “Okay, I’ll take the gift. It better be good.”

  Porter used her hand to give his arousal one final stroke, before releasing her. A soft curse left her mouth as he returned to his side of the cab. She swore his lips twitched as he retrieved his briefcase from the dashboard and reached inside.

  Frankie would never have expected what he pulled out. A miniature, old-fashioned yellow cab made of metal, only slightly bigger than Porter’s hand. It looked like something from fifty years ago, but it was in pristine condition. Fare rates were hand painted on the side in straight, perfect lettering. Just looking at it brought a wave of nostalgia crushing over her, pride in the tradition her family upheld, a tradition she was a part of. All brought on by one little toy.

  “I bought it at an auction some time back. I wasn’t sure why.” He seemed to be avoiding eye contact as he handed the car to her and closed his briefcase. “Now it’s yours.”

  Who was this confusing man? One second he was treating her like a wayward employee and the next? He proved he’d been thinking about her…and he certainly hadn’t been far from her mind, either. “Thank you, Porter. I really love it.” She set it carefully on the seat beside her. “I can’t wait to show it off to the guys.”

  “You simply had to go and say that, didn’t you?”

  …

  Watching Francesca drive was fascinating, which provided Porter with a problem. He couldn’t very well stare at her, but she made it exceedingly difficult. She drove as if executing a choreographed ballet. He’d never even been to a ballet, so the comparison was a strange one, yet he had no other way to describe her grace. She obviously loved driving the damn yellow contraption, despite her profession’s dangers and impracticalities.

  Porter pretended not to notice when she reached down and ran her thumb over the antique yellow cab’s fender. If he disliked her job so much, why had he given her something that represented it?

  Because you knew it would make her happy.

  It had occurred to him last night that a good way to make a woman like him might be a present, but Francesca didn’t seem the candy and roses type. He’d spent the better part of an hour in the building’s basement, opening boxes in his storage space until he’d found the car. Then he’d declared it rubbish and put it back in the box and gone upstairs. Ten minutes after that, he’d gone back down and retrieved it. Honestly, she was a detriment to his mental health.

  This marked the first time in decades that he’d attempted to please someone outside of the bedroom. He’d never actually taken the chance to make another person happy, having grown up a lone wolf, fending for himself, adapting to social situations and learning as he went, since no one else would teach him. He knew fuck-all about needing someone. More than that, he’d never been needed by anyone else. His purposeful failures as a child—school rejections, missed assignment deadlines, eschewing sports—had been designed to keep his family at a distance, where they couldn’t hurt him after the first deep cut. Now, however, knowing he could find himself arse over elbow at any time was troubling, to say the least.

  They were nearing the address he’d given her and they had yet to speak a word. Francesca still appeared a little thrown off by his gift. Join the bloody club. Still, he’d created this last minute appointment so he’d have an excuse to be around her, so he should take advantage. Knowing how precious little work he managed to get done with Francesca in the office, he’d spent the morning on the phone with his security firm partner in London, going over the particulars of their most recent cases, discussing protection strategy for a rising name in politics they’d been tapped to guard around the clock. After hanging up, he’d sat at his desk, trying to put his finger on the lack of accomplishment he’d felt. Putting a plan in place used to inspire a sense of rightness, of satisfaction. How long had it been since he felt that?

  More and more lately, he’d found himself turning to his hobby. Or it had started as a hobby, anyway, and progressed to a daily activity. Writing. He’d begun…writing a sodding book, of all things, the plot inspired by his profession in the security field. Any day now, he’d stop scribbling down ideas and ruminating over character arcs while standing beneath the shower spray. Ridiculous, it was.

  “I’d like to know more about Columbia,” he said, knowing her voice would distract him, craving that distraction. “What is your area of study, exactly?”

  She didn’t take her eyes off the road. “Business Management for now. This time next year, I should have my bachelor’s and I can move on to the business school.” Her tone changed. “Hopefully by then I can pay for it myself.”

  Porter didn’t like the reminder that someone else, especially Oliver Preston, was paying for her schooling, but he would keep it to himself. For now. “That’s important to you, is it?”

  “It’s the most important thing,” she murmured.

  This wasn’t the first time she’d expressed the need to pay her own way. Hell, just this morning she’d made an issue of it. He thought back to the night in Serve when she wouldn’t even allow him to pay for a soda. Just how deep did this independent streak run? “You make enough driving this cab to pay for business school?”

  “No. Well, yes.” Her chin went up. “But there’s the mortgage I s
hare with my uncle. And I’m saving the rest for…”

  “For what?” he prompted when she didn’t continue.

  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?”
<
br />   “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.”