Seduced by Sin (Unlikely Hero)

by Kris Rafferty

  “Maybe.” Unless, as Sullivan and MacLain feared, Hamilton was playing them. Taking her hand, he tugged her into his arms, wrestling self-recrimination. “Would you…” A million thoughts created a bottleneck at his throat, choking off his words. Would you what? Run away with me? “Damn.” He was no longer in control. “I’m going to get us both killed.”

  “What?” Francesca’s eyes widened.

  Shit. Caleb dredged up the will to pretend and forced a chuckle. “You make me want things…it will be the end of me. Certainly the end of my career.” He laughed again and squeezed her. When she smiled back, he dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Promise you’ll stay indoors today, and if you have to leave, keep security with you.”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  Caleb pulled her head against his chest, unable to hold her gaze a moment longer. When the Feds pulled him from this operation, Francesca would be off limits. He’d have to rely on her father to keep her safe, and the man had already shown he only valued her as a thing to wager. What happens if Hamilton decides Francesca is no longer valuable?

  “Just…stay with security,” he said. “Have that dinner with your father.” The sooner he found the ledger, the sooner this damn operation would be over.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Late afternoon, Francesca was feeling more empowered after a quick shower and dressing for success in a pair of light slacks, flats, and a navy striped boat shirt. She was tweaking the cook’s menu selection for her dinner with her father, a bit unnerved that the kitchen showed zero evidence that Caleb and her father’s underlings had ever brawled in here. But it was on her mind. In fact, she was having a hard time keeping any thought in her head not related to her fake fiancé.

  Her father had reluctantly agreed to dinner, so she wanted to reward him by getting the menu just right and maybe put him in a compliant mood. She needed to help Caleb find that damn ledger or…or he’d bail on her father. This was about her father.

  Harris Tate beckoned her from the kitchen door, attempting to draw her away from the matronly cook and the list of recipes.

  “Beatrice”—Francesca rested her hand on the cook’s arm—“I think we’re done. Thanks again for doing this.”

  “Ma’am.” She nodded, smiling, and then the lady smoothed down her black uniform and gathered up her recipes. “It will be ready at eight sharp.”

  Francesca left her in the kitchen and followed Harris into the hall. “Harris.” The closer she stepped toward him, the more her heart sank. He had that effect on her. Add the image of him hitting Caleb and she wanted to positively scratch his eyes out.

  “Francesca. I need to speak with you.” She wanted to say no. The bruises on his face were fading, and his split lip was almost completely healed. He cracked an encouraging smile, but it didn’t make him appear friendlier. “I wanted to explain what happened in the kitchen last week.”

  “Must you? I think it’s clear. Your security team restrained Caleb, my fiancé, while you beat him.” Then Caleb beat the snot out of you. “I almost destroyed a valuable vase because of you.”

  “Vase?” Harris shook off the latter complaint and jumped on the former. “Your father ordered—”

  “Don’t blame this on my father. As soon as you thrust me from the kitchen, ignoring my entreaties you stop, I ran straight to him. He said you were trying to supplant Caleb.”

  Harris’s expression lost its cajoling whimsy, and Francesca could see his mental gears working overtime. He glanced left and right, scanning the empty hallway, and then grabbed her elbow and force-marched her into his office.

  Fear pushed the air from her lungs. “What are you doing?”

  “We need to talk.” Harris released her elbow, stood between her and the door. He was intense and scary. Francesca stepped back. Harris followed. When she was up against his desk, and their relative positions reminded her of the last time she’d been pushed against a desk—Caleb rocking her world—she shuddered as Harris replaced that memory with fear.

  “Harris. I’m not feeling comfortable with how close you’re standing to me.”

  He ignored her entreaty and instead put his hands on his hips, pushing his black trousers lower on his hips. He raked his gaze down her body as if she were a prize cut of meat. If she were another girl, she might have liked it. She’d have to be blind not to see he was a good-looking man. Blond, blue-eyed, muscular, and model-handsome, but his eyes were batshit crazy. And she didn’t need her degrees in psychology to notice.

  “Let’s be straight with each other,” he said. “Your father doesn’t care who you marry. He wants the best man for the job. You understand that, right? No way Smith, as mighty and awe-inspiring as your father believes him to be, no way he can get that ledger back from Bartleby Scrivener—not and live. They have history, and I’m not sure your father understands how deep that history goes. But I can get it.”

  “What?” What history?

  Harris nodded as if they were on the same page. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is Smith isn’t long for…well, he’s not going to be around for much longer.”

  “What are you getting at, Harris?” It sounded like he was suggesting her father didn’t have his own ledger and somehow expected Caleb to find it…without telling him it was missing! That couldn’t be right.

  He shrugged off her question. “My point is I’ll be the last man standing.” Harris gave her a crooked smile, but his mouth forgot to tell his eyes he was smiling. They were flat and emotionless. “Expect to be called to your father’s office. Soon. All you’ll have to do is keep your yap shut, and we’ll both come out ahead. We clear?”

  She was finding it hard to swallow, and her face felt hot, flushed. “Message received.”

  She inched around him, heading for the door, stopping when she heard him snort with amusement. She grabbed the doorknob, glancing over her shoulder, fearing he’d pursue her, but he didn’t. Harris was silently laughing. Feet planted wide, hands still on his hips, he looked happier than she’d ever seen him, and she had no idea why.

  “It’s true.” Harris’s derision dripped. “Levine told me, but I didn’t believe him.”

  “Told you what?”

  “You really don’t know.”

  She lifted her chin and gave him her best impervious glare, then turned to leave. He was playing with her, and she’d had enough. Harris lunged, grabbing her wrist. With one tug, she was pulled to his chest, pinned and helpless to get free. Garlic, garlic, garlic, and food in his teeth. “Let me go!”

  He buried his face in her hair and inhaled sharply. When he released his garlic breath, she gagged. “I can be patient. But I think it’s important you get used to the idea of my hands on you, baby. You don’t have to like it, but it’s your new normal.”

  Francesca fought him, and Harris seemed to enjoy her struggles as he easily thwarted her escape. He was aroused. She opened her mouth to scream. He laughed, releasing her before she made a sound.

  Francesca ran for the door, his laughter following her into the hall, and then up the stairs. She locked herself in her bedroom and forced herself to calm down, to think. Harris had to be lying, or…her father was going to fire Caleb.

  Well, Francesca wasn’t ready to lose Caleb. She paced back and forth in her bedroom, rubbing her hurt wrist, wondering what she was supposed to do. Caleb was in a meeting with her father, downstairs, and normally she wouldn’t think to interrupt, but she feared waiting to share Harris’s revelations. She stepped to the door, wrapped her hand around the knob, and found herself hesitating. Harris was out there. She stepped back, afraid.

  Slipping the phone Caleb gave her from her pocket, she did what he’d instructed. If you need me, call me. Well, Caleb needed her right now, so…she’d text.

  In my bedroom. Need u. She hit send and saw it was delivered.

  Waiting for his response was frustrating, but she didn’t want to spam his phone during the meeting either, so she forced herself to be patient. He texted back. In mtg
with ur father. C U later.

  She quickly realized she should have been more clear. Her message read like a booty call, and for all she knew, her father was firing Caleb now, while she stood there vacillating. “Damn.” Unlocking her bedroom door, she raced down the hall, peeking over her shoulder and down the stairs, fearing Harris was lurking, but the coast was clear, so she hurried to her father’s office.

  “Father!” She saw him behind his desk. Caleb sat on the leather chair he’d first rocked her world on…a lifetime ago.

  “Yes, Francesca?” Her father puffed on one of his ever-present cigars, flipping pages contained in a manila file. “You know if the door is closed, I’m busy.”

  She sought a signal from Caleb. Did he know her father wanted to fire him? Caleb gave nothing away, but instead contemplated her with a mild curiosity. “Is everything okay?” he said.

  Her father didn’t hide his irritation. “Young lady, you’re interrupting a meeting.” Francesca closed the office door and leaned her back against it, unwilling to be deterred. If her father tried to fire Caleb…she wouldn’t allow it.

  “Sorry. It’s just—” Caleb wasn’t giving off a vibe that he was being fired, and it suddenly occurred to her that Harris was just saying mean things to upset her. “Harris said you were going to fire Caleb, but I don’t want you to.” Because? Well, what could she possibly say that would sound reasonable? She bit her lip, noting the four security guards at each corner of the office. “I want to keep him.”

  Caleb did a double take and then smothered a laugh. It was unacceptable. She was helping him. This was not a laughing matter. She had important information that cost her Harris Tate manhandling her to discover!

  “Well, there you have it. I am a kept man.” Caleb controlled his face and turned back to her father, who laughed. Francesca couldn’t remember the last time that happened. And Francesca didn’t blame him. She was acting like a lunatic, but Caleb and her father hadn’t denied the firing part. Was she worrying for nothing?

  “Well?” she prompted.

  “Well, what?” her father said.

  “Are you firing him?”

  “Fire Caleb Smith?” He shook his head. “People don’t fire Caleb Smith.” This time when he laughed, it was at her expense. “I don’t think you understand who your fiancé is, Francesca.” He glanced at Caleb. “May I?”

  Caleb’s shoulders tensed. Barely, but she saw it and would be surprised if her father had missed it. Seeking relief from the suddenly unbearable tension in the room, she moved to Caleb’s side, sitting on the arm of his leather chair. He ignored her encouraging smile, but she kept it in place anyway, for her father’s benefit. When Caleb slipped his arm around her hips, making it easier for her to balance, she saw that his gaze was locked on the manila folder her father was perusing.

  Her father nudged it with his fingertips, like a nervous tic. “It’s not his rap sheet that’s all that impressive,” he said, “though in certain circles I’m sure it is.” Her father’s admiration was evident, and strangely enough, appeared a bit reluctant. It confused her. “What sets him apart, and why I considered him ideal for you, Francesca—” Caleb’s fingers bit into her hip, making her think her father was about to tell tales out of school.

  “Father.” She shook her head. Rap sheet? That didn’t scare her. She specialized in children who’d run afoul of the law. Hoping to relieve Caleb’s embarrassment, she attempted to change the subject. “You’ve done your matchmaking. We’re getting married—what more do you want? Turn the business over to Caleb and spend some time with your daughter. Or is that too much to ask?” It was as if she hadn’t spoken. Her father glanced between the two of them, his expression inscrutable.

  “His wealth, not quite in my league, is nonetheless substantial, considering how hard it is to leverage capital on a man who doesn’t exist.”

  Huh? Substantial wealth? Francesca glanced at Caleb and wondered why he brooded, instead of preened like most men when their net worth was discussed. Honestly, it was kind of a relief to know Caleb wasn’t sleeping with her to get at her father’s money.

  “He exists, Father. Stop being strange.” These mind games were upsetting her, and Caleb, too. She rubbed his back, hoping to soothe.

  “How did you do it, Smith?” her father said. “You have no footprint in the real world.” Caleb remained silent, not willing to share his thoughts. “That will have to change,” her father said. “We’ll create a backstory. We’ll have to, if you’re to step into my shoes.”

  “What are you talking about?” Francesca was confused.

  “I like that you’re a survivor,” her father said. “It’s impressive, actually, that you’re still alive. Your list of”—he glanced at Francesca, hesitating—“rivals is almost as impressive as mine. What are you? Twenty-nine?” He smiled. “Yes. Impressive.”

  “Wait. What?” Caleb lived under similar threat as her father? She nudged Caleb, but he avoided her gaze.

  “He’ll keep you safe, Francesca. He’s obviously very good at that sort of thing. Many other things, too. Gunrunning, art heists, technology smuggling. Drugs.”

  “No drugs,” Caleb said.

  Francesca felt as if she’d swallowed a toad. Her throat closed up, and they were looking at her, as if waiting for her to explode. “That’s…illegal.”

  Her father nodded, returning his gaze to the file. “His specialty is making the competition disappear. Isn’t that right? In some cases, never to be seen again.” His smile faded. “You’re like Christmas morning, Smith. All I could have asked for in a son-in-law.”

  “What are you doing, Hamilton?” Caleb’s tone was low, brutal, and quiet enough that it made him sound dangerous, but his gaze gave nothing away.

  Unnerved, Francesca stood, backing away from them both. When Caleb reached for her, she swatted his hand away, risking a glance at her father. His eyes, cold, blank, unfeeling, stared back at her.

  “Ten years is a long time for a man to survive in a business without my level of protection,” her father said. Francesca felt dizzy and overwhelmed.

  Caleb was watching her. “I’m good at what I do.” She stepped back, bumping into a side table. “Be careful, Francesca.” Caleb’s tone was dead serious. Be careful. It sent a shiver up her spine.

  Her father closed the manila folder, toking on his cigar. “Smith is everything I’d hoped. He’s family.”

  Not yet, she thought. Her father knowingly chose a criminal to be her husband. “Father, did you ever love me?”

  “Take all the time you need to process,” he said. “But if you’re going to have a tantrum, do it elsewhere.” He waved her off, his impatience evident in the downturn of his pursed lips.

  Humiliated, Francesca felt as if she were only now truly seeing these two larger-than-life men clearly—a father who should love her and a lover who never claimed he would. She felt an existential crisis coming on. “Excuse me.” She wandered to the office door, finding it hard to focus through her tears.

  “Francesca.” Caleb’s tortured vocal cords usually tugged at her heartstrings. Today, they prompted her stride to lengthen. Her heart was broken, and she didn’t want to cry in front of strangers.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Caleb wasn’t sure what pissed him off more, that Francesca was revolted by even the smallest sliver of his history, or that he wanted her to know all of it, down to the last sin, the deepest injury. Either way, he was pissed. He stood, heading after her.

  “Francesca!” His throat seized on him and broke on the last syllable. Three syllables. The woman had three damn syllables to her name. More than two was just showing off. “Stop!” He got to the door just in time for her to slam it in his face.

  “Let her go, Smith. Stay and have a celebratory drink. That deal you just brokered for me is going to make us five million. Francesca will keep.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that the potted plant on the right side of Hamilton’s desk had been moved. It had a FBI liste
ning device in it, making Caleb wonder if it had been discovered, or the cleaning lady had moved it. Not that it mattered. Hamilton spilled Caleb’s sins to Francesca, not his own, and the bug wouldn’t be legal by end of day. So yeah, soothing Francesca had to wait. Time was limited.

  “She’s feisty.” Caleb took the proffered glass of scotch and drank, figuring if Hamilton was going to kill him now, he’d use a bullet, not poison. His ever-present guards at the four corners of the office stood at the ready.

  “She’s innocent,” her father said.

  “A little less now, but she still thinks you’re legit. I’ve been jumping through hoops since I came here covering your ass. I’m thinking of bailing, and will…unless you share real information. Prove to me your business won’t be a yoke around my neck. You’ve made assurances and have yet to come through.”

  “You’re not married yet, and I’m not dead.”

  “I’ll walk.”

  “And leave my daughter? But you two are in love.” His derision was marked.

  “You need me more than I need you.”

  “I don’t like threats.”

  “You’re about to be five million dollars richer because of me. I’m the partner saving your bacon.” He sipped and watched as Hamilton arched his brow, seemingly amenable to negotiation. This was Caleb’s shot. “Give me the ledger.”

  “What do you think it will tell you?”

  “That I can trust you.”

  “You have my daughter,” Hamilton said. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “The ledger is something you value.”

  “There is nothing I value more than Francesca.” Hamilton grimaced. “But fair enough. Tomorrow I’ll have the ledger in hand.” Caleb stood. “Tomorrow? Are you willing to wait until then?”