Page 22 of Tempting Frankie (Lust & Luxury #1)

Alexander

I 'm at my wit's end. A whole goddamn month of my woman working here, and I'm ready to snap. Francesca waltzes in and out of the office like a ghost, always just out of reach. It's driving me fucking insane.

This morning, I watch her from my office window as her driver pulls into the parking garage and drops her off. Christ, I want to fucking drive to work with her. But no, she's too proud, too determined to make it on her own. It's infuriating and admirable all at once.

I've had enough, and it’s time to take matters into my own hands.

With a few taps on my phone, I send out a company-wide email.

Due to recent productivity gains, Steele Enterprises will be closed this Thursday and Friday. Enjoy the long weekend, everyone.

That’ll give me more than two fucking days with her where she’s not avoiding me for propriety’s sake.

I smirk, imagining the whoops of joy echoing through the office. But I only care about one person's reaction. I see Francesca’s brow furrow as she reads the email on her phone. Her eyes dart up, searching for me, as if she can see this far up.

My heart's pounding like I'm some lovesick teenager. Get it together, Steele. You're a grown-ass man, not some fumbling boy.

I give it an hour before I summon her to my office. When she walks in, full of a bratty ass attitude, I have to grip my desk to keep from reaching for her.

“Mr. Steele,” she says, coolly professional. “You wanted to see me?”

I lean back in my chair, letting my eyes roam over her. “Pack a bag, Francesca. We're going away for the weekend.”

Her eyes widen. That spark of disobedience I love to spank out of her, flaring to life. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. A cabin on the lake. Just you and me. No work, no distractions.”

She crosses her arms, hip cocked. “And what makes you think I don't have plans?”

I stand, moving around the desk until I'm right in front of her. Close enough to smell her sweet apple scent, to see the rapid pulse at her throat. “You don’t. Pack the bag or I’ll pack it for you.”

Her breath catches, and I see the war in her eyes. Want versus pride. Need versus independence. I wait, tension coiling in my gut.

Finally, she looks up at me, a hint of a smirk on those full lips. “Fine. But I'm driving.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Not a chance, baby. My car, my rules.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off with a finger to her lips.

“Get back to work,” I growl, dropping my hand. “Before Miranda starts ranting about why her best marketing associate is missing and being a grade A pain in my ass about where I found you. Because clearly, it wasn't anywhere you keep your ass in your seat.”

Francesca's eyes narrow. “You're the one who called me up here, Mr. Steele.”

It’s the way she says my name. Like it's a challenge and a caress all at once. I want to grab her, throw her on my desk, and show her exactly what that tone of voice does to me.

“And now I'm telling you to go,” I say, my voice rough. “Unless you want me to bend you over right now.”

Her cheeks flush, a delicious pink that spreads down her neck. For a moment, I think she might call my bluff. Part of me hopes she does. But then she turns on her heel, that perfect peach ass swaying as she walks out the door.

The sun's dipping low behind the mountain as we round the final bend, my Bentley purring beneath us.

Francesca's been quiet for the last hour, her forehead pressed against the window, watching the world blur by.

I've stolen glances at her the whole drive, drinking in the sight of her relaxed in my passenger seat.

My hand finds its way to her thigh. The heat of her skin seeps through the thin fabric as my fingers splay possessively across the soft curve.

I nestle them between her thighs, just at that delicious junction where I can feel her warmth radiating against my fingertips.

She doesn't pull away. She parts her legs slightly, an invitation I'm all too willing to accept.

As we pull onto the gravel driveway, the trees part to reveal the lake, a mirror of gold and crimson in the fading light. My cabin, more of a modern lake house, if I'm being honest, sits nestled among towering pines, with its floor-to-ceiling windows.

I kill the engine and turn to Francesca, ready with some smartass comment about her silence. But the words die in my throat when I see her face.

Her eyes are wide, lips parted in awe. And there, gathering at the corners of those big brown eyes, are tears.

“Francesca?” I say softly, reaching for her hand. “What's wrong, sweetheart?”

She blinks rapidly, a single tear escaping down her cheek. “Nothing's wrong,” she whispers, her voice thick. “It's just…I've never seen a lake before. Not in person.”

Something in my chest clenches painfully. I want to rage at the unfairness of it all, at the world that's denied her so much. Instead, I squeeze her leg.

“Come on,” I say gruffly, covering the catch in my voice. “Let's get a closer look.”

We climb out of the car, and I guide her down the path to the private dock. The boards creak beneath our feet as we walk to the end. Francesca's trembling slightly, and I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her close.

“It's so quiet,” she murmurs, leaning into me. “So still.”

I nod, breathing in the scent of pine and clear water. “Wait till morning,” I tell her. “You'll hear the loons calling across the water. It's something else.”

She turns to look up at me, those doe eyes shining in the fading light. “Thank you,” she says softly. “For bringing me here.”

The urge to kiss her is overwhelming. But I hold back, not wanting to break this fragile moment. Instead, I brush a lock of hair from her face, letting my fingers linger on her cheek.

“Let's get inside,” I murmur against her hair. “I'll build a fire, open some wine. We can watch the stars come out over the lake.”

I grab our bags from the trunk, hefting Francesca's over my shoulder. She reaches for it, but I shoot her a look that says, 'don't even try it.' She rolls her eyes but doesn't argue.

The cabin key slides home, and I push the door open, letting Francesca step inside first. Her gasp of delight sends a thrill through me.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, spinning in a slow circle. “This place is insane.”

I chuckle, dropping the bags by the stairs. “Wait till you see the rest of it.”

I lead her through the open concept living area, gleaming hardwood and plush rugs everywhere. The kitchen's top of the line—not that I ever use half the shit in here. But the real showstopper is the wall of windows facing the lake, framing the view like a living painting.

“Bedrooms are upstairs,” I tell her, watching her trail her fingers over the smooth granite countertop. “Our room has its own balcony overlooking the water.”

We head upstairs, and I show her the guest rooms before opening the double doors to the suite. It's all done in earth tones and rich textures, but Francesca's drawn to the balcony doors, throwing them open to step outside.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, leaning on the railing. “I could get used to this view.”

I come up behind her, close enough to feel her body heat. “That's the idea.”

She turns, and for a moment, we're chest to chest. I can see every freckle dusted across her nose, smell the faint traces of her shampoo.

We head downstairs, and I make a beeline for the fireplace. It's a huge stone monstrosity, dominating one wall of the living room. I crouch down, rolling up the sleeves of my sweater as I start arranging kindling and logs.

“Make yourself comfortable,” I tell Francesca over my shoulder. “Wine is in the rack by the fridge. Glasses are in the cabinet above.”

I hear her padding around the kitchen, the clink of glasses, the pop of a cork. The fire catches quickly, and I feed it carefully, coaxing the flames higher. The warm glow fills the room, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

When I stand and turn around, my breath catches in my throat. Francesca's curled up on the oversized leather sofa, a glass of red wine cradled in her hands. The firelight plays over her face, softening her features, turning her eyes to liquid amber.

I settle onto the couch, pulling Francesca between my legs. She leans back against my chest, and I wrap my arms around her waist, savoring the warmth of her body against mine. We sit in comfortable silence, sipping our wine and watching as the sky darkens and stars begin to twinkle over the water.

The fire crackles, casting a warm glow across the room. Francesca's hair smells like lavender and honey. I trace lazy circles on her arm with my thumb, feeling her relax further into me.

“It's so beautiful,” she murmurs, her eyes fixed on the sky. “I've never seen so many stars.”

I nod, my chin brushing the top of her head. “Light pollution's a shame in the city. Out here, you can see the Milky Way on a clear night.”

She tilts her head back, looking up at me with a soft smile. “You'll have to show me.”

“I’ll show you everything, baby,” I say, pressing a kiss to her temple.

We fall quiet again; the only sounds are the crackling fire and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. I can feel the tension melting out of Francesca's body, her breathing slow and steady.

After a while, she speaks again, her voice barely above a whisper. “I never had anything like this growing up.”

I tighten my arms around her, sensing the vulnerability in her words. “Tell me,” I say softly.

She takes a deep breath, her fingers idly tracing patterns on my forearm. “I was in foster care from the time I was eight. Bounced around a lot, never stayed in one place for long.”

My jaw clenches, thinking of her as a little girl, shuffled from home to home like an unwanted package. “That must have been hard,” I say, keeping my voice neutral.

She shrugs, but I feel the tremor that runs through her body. “It was what it was. You learn to adapt, to not get too attached.”

I press another kiss to her hair, silently urging her to continue.