Seduced by Sin (Unlikely Hero)

by Kris Rafferty

  “No. I’m not okay. I’m pathetic. I’m also a liar, willing to pretend to be something I’m not to gain something I haven’t a chance of having. I don’t know which is worse. That I’m lying to everyone, or that I’m lying to myself. This whole thing is a bad idea. I don’t do lies well.” She pressed her hand to her belly. “It’s eating me up.” She sipped her beer, smacking her lips. Then she leaned over the table, lowering her voice to a whisper. “If you weren’t so good in bed, I’d have kicked you and this fake engagement to the curb days ago.”

  Caleb grimaced, staring at his beer. “I don’t want to be the enemy.” He absently nudged his bottle and then ran his finger along the condensation dripping on its side. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t ask me to be bad in bed. With you…I can’t help but be that good.”

  He surprised a laugh out of her, and then she groaned.

  “Ignore me.” She waved away the questions she saw on his face. “I understand you could walk away, and you’re not. My father thinks he’s doing you a favor. No, scratch that. He thinks he’s giving you the Holy Grail by offering you the CEO/president position of his company. But I know his conditions of marrying me are archaic, and most men would have walked away. I appreciate your patience with his silliness. His illness…I think it’s messed him up.”

  Two plates were placed on the table with a thump, startling her. Caleb smiled at Lanny and then nudged Francesca’s plate closer to her, encouraging her to dig in. “I called ahead. They know what I like.”

  “How do you know it’s okay to eat?” Lanny seemed awful angry, and Tony, well, Tony wasn’t looking too happy to see them, either.

  “Trust me.” He smiled.

  In the end, she did trust him, and the aroma and visuals of crisp stir-fried veggies and delectable slices of duck made it easy to take her chances. Everything was delicious.

  “I’ve been coming here since it opened,” he said. “Tony and Lanny are married, and Tony is just nervous. He’s been meaning to…return something today, but he’s obviously forgotten and is now feeling rushed.”

  “Something? Like a lawn mower? A cup of sugar? You’re talking about a favor, aren’t you?” She smiled. “See? I’m learning.”

  Caleb lifted his brows for a moment, suppressing a smile. “There’s no pulling the wool over your eyes.”

  Francesca glanced over her shoulder. Lanny and Tony weren’t even looking at each other, and Lanny seemed more the jealous lover type. “Do you bring a lot of your women here?”

  “Women?” He snorted. “I don’t have women.”

  He was sparing her feelings, she supposed. “It’s okay. I understand. You’re” —she waved at him, indicating his body and face—“a chick magnet. More tail than Pegasus—”

  “Pegasus?” He cringed.

  “You know what I mean. You weren’t”—he sipped his beer, looking uncomfortable, so she lowered her voice—“a virgin when we met.”

  Caleb did a spit take. “Sorry. Fuck. I’m sorry.” He grabbed napkins, mopping his chin and the table, then gathering up a clean one, he blotted the beer off her chin. “I know you’re going somewhere with this. I just don’t know if I’ll survive the trip.”

  She sighed heavily and took another napkin, finishing the job. “I’m trying to say I understand there’ve been women in your life.” She balled up the napkins and set them aside, returning to her food, spearing a piece of crispy duck with more vigor than necessary. Stuffing it in her mouth, she told herself to shut up.

  Caleb covered her other hand, pinning it to the table. “You’re the only one I asked to marry me.” Her heart beat a little faster, and try as she might, she couldn’t stop her smile. Bliss flowed from her fingertips to toes. “Do you like your ring?” If Caleb were any more amused, he’d be laughing. Embarrassed, she wanted to change the subject.

  “Yes. Thank you.” He was enjoying her struggle for composure too much. “Good duck.” She speared another piece and stuffed that into her already-full mouth.

  His smile was wide. “Told you.” He used chopsticks to dig in, eating with gusto as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  She couldn’t help but be a bit jealous, and would have loved to know his secret. Maybe she’d learn it if she could get him on a couch and explore his brain, instead of his body. It didn’t require an advanced degree to guess he’d had a tough childhood, but beyond that, she knew nada. He was good at business, or her father wouldn’t think him qualified to be his successor. But where was his family? What did he do when he wasn’t in meetings with her father, working with his security team on the cyber contract, or dallying with her in bed?

  Caleb took a pull off his beer, drawing her eyes to his neck and the scar there. When he put the beer down, she indicated his neck with a flick of a finger, thinking that seemed the obvious place to start asking questions. He leaned back in the booth, his hand gripping his bottle a little tighter, ignoring her silent question.

  She grimaced. “You know every inch of my body, Caleb. I’m not allowed to ask about your neck?”

  Caleb narrowed his eyes, as if she weren’t playing fair, and then indicated her food with a glance. “It will put you off your food.”

  She picked up her fork and continued eating, only then noticing his plate was empty. “Fine. Forget I said anything.” She stuffed her mouth with more duck.

  His eyes narrowed again, studying her, as if he wondered if he could get away with saying nothing. Then he took a breath and wiped his face of all expression. “My mother’s pimp cut me with a box cutter.” Francesca stopped chewing as he slowly drew his finger along the jagged scar, still devoid of emotion. “Turns out, if you don’t go deep, you gotta slice more than once.” Then he revealed a flicker of anger, and she knew he was still angry about it. No. She studied him closer. He was angry she’d forced him to confide in her.

  And she didn’t blame him. Francesca had no right to ask, never mind expect an answer. “If you didn’t want to tell me, why did you?”

  Caleb dropped his eyes to his beer and pursed his lips. Sullen. “That’s just it.” He caught her gaze. “I’m pissed…because I did want to tell you. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

  Chapter Nine

  Caleb took a pull off his beer, struggling to push the memories down. Everyone involved was dead—except for him. Though it wouldn’t be the first time he’d felt that the kid he’d been had died that day. In his place was someone, something different. His mom soon overdosed. The pimp, well, Caleb eventually found him.

  “It’s a miracle you survived.” Francesca was having a hard time keeping her emotions in check. He’d upset her, but now that he’d dumped this on her, he felt he owed her an explanation. The only other person who knew was his best friend, Marnie Somerville MacLain, but her story was little better than his, so he’d never worried she’d judge. Francesca, though—she’d judge. She’d see him as one of her sad, woebegone kids from the shelter, when what he really was, well, he was a dangerous fuck somewhere in the middle of good and bad. But try explaining that.

  “I was ten.” His mom jumped on her pimp’s back before he sliced an artery, giving Caleb a chance to run. He made it outside before he lost consciousness, woke in a hospital, got stitched up. It left him mute for six months. “I had things to do, and being dead wasn’t one of them.” The moment he was strong enough, he tracked the bastard down, and sliced the Pimp’s throat. It was Caleb’s first kill. He didn’t regret it, but it still haunted him. Every kill haunted him.

  She wrapped her hands around her beer as if she didn’t know what to do with them. “Are your parents alive? My mother died when I was eight.”

  He presumed she wanted to hear something like, Mom and Dad live in Boca and I visit them on holidays. Life is peachy. And you? Her smile fairly begged for it. But truth was life had been hard for Caleb, and oftentimes sucked. He never knew his dad, and his mom was a fading memory. She did stop the pimp from finishing him off, so he had that. Maybe she did love him more than her
drugs. Still, it wasn’t a happy ending, and he refused to lie to Francesca unless it was necessary. His sins were piling up.

  “They passed away.” He stared at his beer.

  “Sorry to hear that.” She patted his arm, then picked up her fork again and ate.

  She’d been unable to hide that her hand was trembling, and she was trying so hard not to embarrass him with sympathy. Francesca was kind that way, and he appreciated it, but her kindness was misdirected. He didn’t deserve it. Both progeny of the criminal class, living two very different lives—Francesca springing from the top of the food chain and Caleb from its primordial ooze—yet he was the only one in the know, and Caleb was using it against her. Watching her sit there, oblivious, was akin to watching a child chase a ball into traffic. The tragedy was coming, and a good person would save her, but his job…it wasn’t about being good. It was about stopping bad people, and Jonathan Hamilton was as bad as they came.

  Soon, Francesca would discover she’d been living a lie, and it would change her, so this version of her had an expiration date. He studied her beautiful face, seeing her worry, and knew he’d miss this version. Yeah, she was window dressing for a father who used her as a pawn, a twice-degreed Ivy Leaguer relegated to heir-maker, oblivious to her father’s alternate identity as kingpin of a global extortion ring, but…this version was untouched by corruption. This version could love him.

  “Remember I mentioned wedding planners?” he said. She nodded, suspicion narrowing her eyes. “They’re scheduled to meet us at the mansion after lunch.” She swallowed her last bite as if the process were painful and took a sip of beer to wash it down, grimacing.

  “Caleb!” Francesca’s eyes lost focus, her face flushed, and she’d pancaked her hands and was waving them in front of her face for some inexplicable reason.

  He took her hands, trying to catch her attention. “Trust me?”

  She growled, focusing her narrowed eyes on him. “I shouldn’t. You’re a smooth-talking man.”

  He smiled. “I hear a ‘but’ coming.”

  She squeezed his hands, glancing at her engagement ring. “But…yes. For some reason, I do trust you. You said you’d find a way to stop this marriage, and I’m counting on you.”

  “It won’t happen. Promise.”

  She nodded, chin held high. “Just make sure you find an out before I’m expected to walk down the aisle. I’d hate to stand you up at the altar.”

  “Would you?” He didn’t think she had it in her.

  “Is that a dare?”

  He laughed, loving how she threw his words back at him. But he had no doubt she’d marry him if only to avoid hurting him. She was so…tender. He shook his head, incapable of understanding why someone would allow themselves to be that vulnerable. He nudged her engagement ring with his thumb. “Sorry I fucked up giving it to you.”

  “It’s a real engagement ring for a fake engagement.” She licked her lip and then sighed as she studied the hundred-thousand-dollar ring. “It gets confusing.”

  She glanced out the restaurant’s window, signaling she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He followed her gaze and saw she was keeping tabs on her bodyguards. He supposed it was an ingrained habit after all these years. They were surveilling the street, doing their jobs. And Caleb could see his operative was crouched on a rooftop across the street.

  Lanny was chewing gum, ignoring them, reading her tabloid by the register. Tony had left already. Every year on this day, the restaurant owner delivered General Tso’s chicken to the grandmother of an old friend who’d been murdered ten years ago today. She liked Tony’s chicken, and it was the only thing she’d eat on this horrible anniversary. So Caleb made a deal with Tony to hook her up. Quid pro quo.

  He and Francesca needed to leave, but Caleb needed to make sure Tony delivered. The problem with using favors as currency was sometimes people didn’t hold up their end of the deal. Caleb’s arrival for lunch had been a gentle reminder, but it goosed Tony into action, so no harm, no foul.

  He pressed his lips to her knuckles. “I should have woken you and given you the ring properly.”

  She raised her brows, pursing her lips and avoiding his gaze. “You didn’t because…something about not wanting to make love to me.”

  He winced. “I’m an ass.”

  She glanced at him, and then relaxed, repressed a smile. “I would have enjoyed being woken.”

  “I would have made sure of it. Next time I will.”

  She rolled her eyes. “A girl only gets one first, Caleb, and this was my first engagement ring.” She glanced around, making sure they weren’t overheard.

  “Forgive me?” He supposed his words would have carried more weight if he hadn’t been smiling.

  “Whatever.” She shook her head, but seemed over her pique. “Just find a way to stop this wedding. How are your techs doing, by the way? Any news on the spy?”

  “No.” Because Caleb was the spy. And his guys hadn’t found any leads on the ledger. If he were a good spy, he’d use this opening to prod her into asking her father about the ledger again, but he couldn’t force the words past his throat. If the Feds found out he’d gone soft, they’d probably fire him. “And your father is demanding a wedding and a funeral before he gives over control. It’s not looking good for me. You won’t marry me and your father will outlive us all.”

  Francesca frowned, slapping his arm. “Not funny, Caleb.”

  Caleb took a pull off the beer, angry with himself for goading her. “Sorry.” It wasn’t her fault she didn’t know her father was evil incarnate.

  “When I marry, it will be because I love a man and he loves me.” She avoided his gaze and then sneaked a peek at him, embarrassed. Damn. His stomach clenched. She was falling in love with him. Rather, she was falling in love with a carefully constructed version of Caleb Smith, the architect of her downfall.

  “Francesca—”

  She waved off his words. “The doctors say my father has six months to a year. Maybe there’ll be a miracle. Maybe his treatment will save him. He’s weak, yes, but I can’t imagine a world without him. He’s always been there. Giving me hell, making my life miserable. Ugh. You know what I’m saying.”

  He knew exactly what she was saying. Stockholm syndrome. She’d be better off when her father was in jail, unable to use and abuse her the way he’d always done. Hell, abuse so many people. Graft, extortion, bribes, murder. The world would be a better place when Jonathan Hamilton wasn’t in it.

  Caleb leaned across the booth’s table, cupping her cheek. “You deserve better.”

  She blushed again. “Oh, no. I’m going to hell. What level is devoted to liars?”

  He chuckled. “Whichever level it is, I promise, I’ll find you.”

  “Hm. No doubt.” She rested her chin on her palm. “Father trusts no one. I’m beginning to see why.” A shiver ran the length of her.

  When his deceit was revealed and all secrets were outed, Caleb wondered who Francesca would blame. Him or her father? He had no illusions whom she’d forgive…and it wasn’t him.

  Chapter Ten

  Francesca’s phone rang. “Probably my supervisor with news on Stephanie.” She riffled through her purse and found her ringing iPhone. “Yikes. It’s my father.” Francesca steeled herself before hitting the receive button. “Hello.”

  “You with Smith?”

  Francesca glanced at Caleb and saw his curiosity. “You mean my soul mate, the man of my dreams, the future father of your grandchildren? We’re picking out baby names as we speak.”

  Caleb’s prurient amusement didn’t make her feel better. Highlighting the absurdity of her and Caleb’s arranged marriage was the kindest weapon in her arsenal, and she wanted to be kind to her father, but this was not okay. She refused to abandon him over this—even though it felt as if he’d abandoned her years ago—but this marriage thing had to be resolved. Somehow, if Caleb couldn’t find a way to keep his agreement with her father and not marry her, she’d have to break
the news to both her father and Caleb. Come what may, her future husband was going to be a man who wanted to marry her, or she wasn’t marrying him.

  “Is he there or not?” her father said.

  “He’s here.”

  “Tell him to answer his phone when I call. You’re both needed here at the mansion.”

  “I’m having lunch.”

  “The wedding organizers arrived and no one was there to receive them. I’m ten minutes out. Where are you?”

  Francesca’s stomach dropped. Keeping them waiting was a horrible first impression. “Oh my gosh, have the cook prepare—”

  “They’re in the parlor waiting. I suggest you hurry home.” Her father disconnected the line, leaving Francesca staring at the phone.

  “This is a disaster!”

  “Hmm?” He was texting on his iPhone.

  He was clueless. “Men.” That got his attention and a raised eyebrow. “We have to go.” Caleb glanced at the restaurant’s front entrance, as if conflicted. “The wedding planners are at the mansion, Caleb. We have to go.” Even if they raced to the mansion, the wedding planners would be waiting for almost a half an hour. She felt so bad. “My father says he’s ten minutes away, but what are the odds he’ll even speak with them?” Caleb threw a fifty on the table.

  As he stood, Tony rushed into the restaurant, out of breath and smiling. “Done!” Caleb winked at the man. Francesca saw Tony’s relief, but she was so upset, she didn’t question it, only tucked the information away as more evidence these restaurant owners were odd. She hurried outside with Caleb on her heels.

  She stopped on the sidewalk, trying to calculate the quickest way to get to the mansion. “Your car is most likely impounded and I’m not due to be picked up until”—she looked at her diamond-encrusted wristwatch—“three hours from now. Maybe we can catch a ride with Ralph and Walter.” She scanned the sidewalk. “Where are my bodyguards?” Caleb glanced behind him. She followed his gaze and saw Ralph pull up to the curb in front of Walter, who was surveilling the street. “They’ll give us a ride.”