by Katee Robert
Journey’s mouth dropped open, which only prompted him to notice she’d painted her lips a bright pink. Yeah, ’cause I definitely didn’t notice before now. She shoved her hair back. “You’re out of your damn mind. You don’t give a fuck about my family. Why should my embarrassing myself and them matter?”
“Because my best friend is your cousin and, like it or not, what you do reflects back on him.” It wasn’t, strictly speaking, the truth, but Frank wasn’t all that interested in the truth. He was interested in getting Journey King the fuck out of his club before he did something unforgivable like involve himself in her problems. He knew better. Picking up strays might be a weakness he had, but he’d turned it into a strength and built an empire as a result.
Journey wasn’t a stray. She was a fucking King.
She sat back, putting herself on display whether she meant to or not. Her dress was perfectly professional—hitting a reasonable two inches above her knees and with just enough give to the fit that it showed off her body without being actively provocative—but that didn’t stop his gaze from catching on the slope of her small breasts, the curve of her waist, the long lines of her bare legs.
Trouble.
“I’ll leave, Frank. No problem.” She grinned, though it didn’t reach her hazel eyes. “If you give me the building I’ve spent the last six months trying to buy from your contrary ass.”
He stared. Of all the reactions he’d expected of her, tossing their thwarted business deal in his face wasn’t one of them. He’d never had any intention of selling that damn building to Kingdom Corp, and Journey had to know it. “No.”
She shrugged a single shoulder, her smile falling away. “Then I guess you’re not getting me out of your club without causing a scene. The media loves to hate me, you know. I make excellent headlines. How much profit do you think you’ll lose if it comes out that you blacklisted Lydia King’s daughter?”
“Slow your roll, Duchess.”
She straightened, eyes flashing. “For the last goddamn time—do not call me that.”
Frank was supposed to be above petty bullshit. He’d worked damn hard to elevate himself over the mistakes his parents had made and the consequences those same mistakes generated. If he wanted to take someone down, then he took them down piece by piece. Methodically. Ensuring that, when he walked away, they wouldn’t have the energy or the willpower to hold a knife to his back. All being petty did was create unnecessary enemies.
He didn’t need help in that department. Frank made enemies simply by being what he was—a powerful black man moving among Houston’s elite.
He couldn’t seem to resist needling this woman, though. He raked his gaze over her, forcing his expression to be impassive. “You can’t bring up the media without mentioning the nickname they coined for you. They still use it. Might as well get used to it. You were the one who tried to marry into royalty.”
Her pink lips thinned. “You are such a dick.”
No point in denying it—it was the truth, after all. He reached for his phone. “I’m calling you a cab and you’re going to get your ass into it, even if it takes me hauling you over my shoulder to make it happen.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Journey pushed out of her chair and took two large steps to put herself right up against the desk. She planted her hands on the dark wood and leaned over, looking down her nose at him. “Get off your fucking power trip, Frank. You’re nothing. You’re less than nothing.”
He sat back in his chair. Journey might be impulsive and speak before thinking when she was in social situations, but she was a damn professional the rest of the time. She wasn’t like so many of the others of her kind. No matter what she thought of him, she wouldn’t give it voice under normal circumstances. Trying to ice Frank out would only result in Kingdom Corp suffering the consequences when he blocked any future real estate deals they sought. She knew that, and if there was one god Journey King worshipped, it was Kingdom Corp. She’d never let something as mundane as personal opinion negatively affect her company.
He stood, using his size to push her back.
Except she didn’t back up. She glared at him from the other side of the desk as if whatever had crawled up her ass was his fault. He braced his hands a bare inch from hers, leaning down to get right in her face. “Watch your tone, Duchess. The rest of the world might line up to blow smoke up your ass, but I don’t play that game. Words and actions have consequences. You want to play in the big leagues? You better damn well act like it.”
Chapter Two
Journey could barely speak past the tangled mess of emotions inside her. Frank Evans was such a smug bastard, so damn sure he knew everything there was to know about everyone around him. It didn’t help that he was absolutely gorgeous, a warrior in a three-piece suit. His dark brown skin gleamed in the low light of the office, his eyes seeming to swallow up the shadows. Everything about him was downright overwhelming, from his linebacker shoulders, to the well-defined chest that even his custom suits couldn’t hide, to his sensual lips that never seemed to smile.
She straightened slowly. Not retreating. Restrategizing.
Journey held no illusions. Frank didn’t give two fucks about her. He did care about her cousin, which was most likely the source of this little powwow. She lifted her chin. “You’re not shuttling me out of here like some kind of dirty secret.” If she left Cocoa’s, there was nothing to do but go home. To think. To let the knowledge sink in regarding just how fucked her life was right now. Frank thinks I can’t roll in the big leagues.
He had no idea just how big the leagues were that she played in right now. For Frank, it was all money and business and whatever real estate moguls did between buying up property after property.
For Journey, the stakes were so much higher.
“You’re not a dirty secret, Duchess. You’re a fucking mess.” Each word cut through her, a knife to the chest, the stomach, the neck.
The fact that they were true only made it hurt worse.
She took a careful step back and then another. This was a mistake. This whole thing was a mistake. I should have gone with my first instinct and run home. Trying to prove something is only going to result in my looking like a damn fool. She couldn’t say it aloud. There were only two people Journey trusted in this world, and Frank fucking Evans didn’t make the list. She spun for the door. “Have a nice night, jackass.”
Damn it. What was she doing? She’d just called Frank a jackass. Worse, she’d told him he was nothing—less than nothing. Journey closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself. If she needed an indicator of just how screwed up today had gotten, the lack of filter for the words erupting from her mouth more than confirmed it.
Frank wasn’t some stranger she’d never see again after acting like a jerk. He owned half of Houston, which meant Kingdom Corp—and Journey—came into contact with him professionally time and time again. He was also good friends with Journey’s cousin, and he’d won over her best friend as well. Journey would have to deal with him outside of the professional sphere, too. Oh, what a tangled web we weave.
Damn it, I have to apologize.
“Frank.” She spoke without opening her eyes. Just get the words out and then you can leave. Just fix this. “I was out of line. I’m sorry. You don’t have to babysit me and I won’t make a scene. I’ll grab a cab right now and get out of your hair.”
“Duchess.” Instead of coming from behind her, his voice sounded in front of her. Directly in front of her.
She opened her eyes and bit down a yelp. Frank stood a few inches away. Even though she wore heels, Frank towered over her. He stared at her like he believed that if he focused hard enough, he could pull her thoughts from her head. Trust me, Frank, neither of us wants that. Finally, he frowned. “What’s wrong? I thought it was just a bad day, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”
The temptation rose to confess everything and throw herself on his mercy. He might not have a
nurturing bone in his body, but he was all warrior. She’d bet her last dollar that he would have a problem with her father on sheer principle. Nothing personal, of course. Just taking care of business and cleaning up the trash. Everyone in Houston knew how that ended. People in Frank Evans’s way didn’t last long. She gave herself several seconds to picture her father’s downfall, to luxuriate in the image of him broken and losing what little he cared about in the world. It would be glorious.
She couldn’t do it.
To admit the truth was to open Pandora’s box. Some things couldn’t be unsaid, and while Frank might look at her like she was an idiot sometimes, he still saw her as a strong woman. Not a victim.
“Journey.”
The shock of hearing her actual name from his lips propelled her into motion. If he kept talking in that deep, steady voice, she’d compromise what little strength she had left. She’d spent too much of her life weak and depending on others to shield her. Doing it now, with a man who was barely more than a stranger? Out of the question. She had to leave and she had to leave now.
But when she moved, it was to sway toward him. Frank caught her hips, his big hands easily holding her in place. This was where he’d set her away from him and say something cutting to slam her back into reality.
Except he didn’t say anything at all.
Frank’s gaze went hot and his fingers pulsed on her hips, the slightest of movements that had her forgetting what little common sense she had left and tilting her face up to his. Their lips touched, and the world around them held its breath. Another mistake in a long list of mistakes. There was no backing down. No turning back time to pretend none of this ever happened. She shifted closer and pressed herself against his solid body. The man didn’t seem to have a soft spot on him. Good. Journey ran her hands up his chest and nipped his bottom lip. Hard.
Just like that, the world sprang into motion again. Frank moved. One second Journey was wondering how far to take this, and the next he’d spun them around and pinned her against the door. He ran his rough hands down her sides, over her ass. Touching her everywhere. Anywhere. Yes, yes, yes.
He tore his mouth from hers and yanked her dress strap down to bite her shoulder. “You want a distraction, Duchess.” He soothed the spot with his tongue and kissed her collarbone, the soft scrape of his teeth against her skin making her shiver. “I’ll give it to you. On one condition.”
She could barely think past his hands on her thighs, banding around them hard enough to bruise. Each touch. Each bite. Each rough kiss. It all towed her inch by inch back to earth, back to the person Journey King really was.
At least the person she was when her personal demons didn’t show up to rub her face in the past.
No. No thinking. There’s only Frank.
She arched against him, but he held her immobile. Journey cursed. “What condition?”
“After this, you tell me what’s going on.” He sucked hard on her neck, and her knees buckled. Frank spoke against her skin. “The truth, Duchess.”
“Okay.” She lied through her teeth. Anything to keep this going, to ground herself, to banish the fears nipping at her heels for a few minutes.
He lifted her and moved between her thighs, pinning her more effectively. It should have made her feel trapped, but she couldn’t think about being pinned into place with Frank’s tongue and teeth working her neck. He licked the pulse point in the hollow of her throat. “I’m not going to be gentle.”
This is what I need.
She let her head drop back against the door, baring her throat to him completely. “I don’t want you to be.”
He leaned back enough to look at her—really look at her. “You just had two shots. If you’re drunk—”
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.”
She’s using me.
Another signal he should stop this. He was many things, but a sex toy didn’t make the list. Neither did being a weapon a woman used in her quest for self-destruction, if that was tonight’s goal. He gripped her hips, forcing her still. “Journey—”
She hooked her arms around his neck, dipping down so she met his gaze. “Just tonight, Frank. Shelve the questions for tonight.” She bit her bottom lip and then seemed to force the rest of her words out. “I…need this. I need you.”
The words hooked in his chest, threatening to override what little control he had left. Still, he held back. Fucking her tonight would be something she’d regret, no matter what she told herself now. But there were other options. He could grant her a reprieve—just enough to take the edge off before he sent her on her way.
