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“C-come in,” Eleanor stuttered. There was only one voice that sounded like that, one voice that sent chills racing across her skin and electricity throbbing straight to her clit.
She’d never expected to hear that voice again, let alone to see Frank’s face or be in the same room with him. Since he had left her that night, she hadn’t heard a word from him. It was as if the moment they’d shared had never happened. It was simply a haunting, erotic dream that woke her in the night, aching for the only man who had ever made her feel so perfectly fulfilled.
“Hello, Eleanor.” Frank opened the door to her suite, and immediately took her breath away.
She could smell his unique, potently sensual scent from twenty feet away. It invaded her body, making her nipples tighten and a sharp knot of longing fist low in her belly.
“Hello, Frank.” Thank God she didn’t sound as lustful as she felt. Now she just had to get rid of him before she did something stupid, like throw herself at his feet and beg him to fuck her. Not something she would usually worry about, but she hadn’t been herself since that night. He had awoken her long-dormant sex drive and she’d been able to think of little else since.
“You look…” Frank trailed off as he walked into the room, stopping near her chair.
“Yes?” she prompted, noticin
g that he looked amazing in a pair of faded jeans and a plain black t-shirt that stretched tightly over his chest. He looked even more rampantly masculine clothed, if that were possible.
Or maybe it was just the thought of getting to peel off that shirt to reveal the perfection underneath that made her body ache.
“You look even better in real life,” he said with a smile, seeming to recover from whatever had stolen his words a moment before. “You’ve been all over the evening news, but the cameras didn’t do you justice.”
She would like to believe he was being sincere, but considering she was still in her pajamas and hadn’t brushed her hair or bothered to put on her makeup, she seriously doubted that was the case. At least she’d brushed her teeth—not that he would be getting close enough to smell her breath.
In fact, it would be best if he turned around and left right now.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, so very early in the morning?” She needed to keep her mind on business, find out what he wanted, and then get rid of him. She had enough on her plate without being reminded that she was suffering from something that felt remarkably like a broken heart.
“They told me you got up early,” Frank said, then fell silent, staring at her in a way that would have been flattering if she weren’t positive that he didn’t care for her.
How could he, when he’d left without so much as a kind word?
“What do you want, Frank?” She rose from her chair, walking over to the table where her fruit tray from last night still sat. She was no longer hungry, but maybe he’d hurry up and get on with whatever he was here for if he assumed she was ready for breakfast.
“Not a morning person?” He followed her to the table, taking a grape from the tray with the same ease he’d taken her body in his hands a few nights before.
For some reason, that air of possession drove her over the edge.
“Hands off my fruit tray,” she snapped. “For your information, I’m definitely a morning person, just not when in the presence of someone I don’t like very much.”
“Ouch. But I deserve that,” he said with a nervous laugh.
Hmm…curious… Why would he be nervous?
“I’ll ask you one more time,” Eleanor said in a gentler tone. “What do you want?”
“That’s a big question.” He met her eyes with a look that had her imagination working overtime, but she refused to fling herself into his arms.
She’d thought Frank cared for her once before, but she’d been wrong. He’d left and she’d felt like a lovesick fool. It wasn’t going to happen a second time. If he had something to say, something he wanted, he was going to have to spell it out.
“I got my clothes.” He thrust out a small brown bag she hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Thanks for sending them over.”
“What’s this?” Eleanor asked, the simple act of her fingers brushing against his as she reached for the bag more contact than she could handle without starting to tremble.
“Your diaper. Sorry I took it. I walked out before I thought about it, or the fact that I’d have to walk into the Guard’s Station wearing the damn thing,” he said, one finger tracing over her knuckles before he pulled away, leaving her holding the bag.
“You could have kept it,” she said. “I’m out of the business.”
“Good. It didn’t suit you.” The affection in his eyes made her want to scream.
How could he do this to her—remind her of what it felt like to be the focus of his overwhelming attention when he planned to drop her diaper and go?
