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She rolled her eyes. “Try finding decent employment when the queen says you used to beat her and lock her in the basement.”
“You’re saying you didn’t?”
“No! Of course not.”
“Why would she lie?”
“I don’t know.” Eleanor’s arms flapped up and down at her sides. “Because she hated that her father and I were happy? Because she hated me for living after her father died? She’s a teenager and she hated me for everything and nothing at all. I thought it was fairly typical stuff. I had no idea she would take things as far as she did.”
Frank didn’t know what to say. She looked so forlorn, so hopeless. Hers wasn’t the face of an accomplished liar; it was the face of a woman who had told the truth and had it fail her. And now she was getting by on small deceptions, like pretending she was a Domme when she was the furthest thing from it.
Or pretending she wasn’t aching for someone to hold her.
Frank fought to keep from going to her and giving her the arms she needed. No matter how much he wanted to be there for this stranger, he had a prior commitment to the woman she claimed had wronged her.
Eleanor read his decision on his face and made an attempt at a smile. “It’s fine, I didn’t expect you to give me a chance. But will you please leave? And take your friends with you. I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”
She sat down on the red couch in the center of the room, deflated.
“Eleanor—”
“Please, just go.” She dropped her head into her hands. Her long, honey-brown hair spilled over her shoulders, all the way to the floor, looking as soft as it felt.
Frank’s cock began to throb as he remembered the satin of her hair against his chest. He wanted to hold her again more than he wanted to take his next breath. Even more, he wanted to watch her hair swirl around her shoulders as she rode his cock, wanted to see her skin flush with pleasure and hear her moan as her pussy gripped him tight. He wanted to fist his hand in her silky mane and bring her close for a kiss, then get to work showing her how swiftly he could make her come again.
“I believe you.” The words were out of his mouth before he made a conscious decision to speak them.
Did he believe her? Maybe, maybe not.
But he needed to get her to accept his help and wanted her too much to leave her alone with a madman on the way, no matter what she thought she could handle.
“You do?” She lifted a shocked face to his, a single tear sliding down her cheek.
“Don’t start that again.” His throat was tight, and he couldn’t seem to stop his feet from moving toward her. They had time to spare and he was going to use it to take away her pain, at least for a little while.
He stopped in front of her, his breath quickening as she tilted her head back and looked him in the eye, revealing the graceful column of her throat and the decadent expanse of her cleavage. Slowly, he knelt in front of her until their bodies were only inches apart and cupped her face in his hands. Her lips parted and a sound halfway between a sigh and a moan escaped her mouth as he wiped away the black streaks left by her tears.
“You really believe me?” she asked. “No one’s ever believed me.”
“I have a ten-year-old. He’s a good kid, but we’ve had our rough spots. People who think children are all sweetness and light usually don’t have any,” he said with a smile, feeling a strange tug in the vicinity of his heart when she smiled back.
God, she was stunning when she smiled.
It made him wish that the words he’d said were sincere. It was true that kids could lie and cheat and steal as well as many adults, but he couldn’t honestly say that he believed Eleanor was telling the truth. He’d known the queen for two years, and while she was impulsive and flighty he had never witnessed any deception on her part. He’d met Eleanor less than twenty minutes ago and the first words out of her mouth had been a lie.
Maybe not a lie, but a promise to dominate him that she had failed to keep.
But how could he complain when he hadn’t wanted her to keep that promise in the first place?
“You don’t look old enough to have a ten-year-old,” she said. “Are you married?”
“I’m thirty-five. My wife passed away when Christian was four.”
“I’m sorry.” The empathy in her eyes was real and touched him more than he wanted to admit. It had been a long time since a woman had looked at him with such compassion.
“It was a long time ago.” He moved his hands to the tops of her thighs, letting his fingers play back and forth between her knees and the bottom of her shorts, watching her chest rise and fall as she began to breathe faster.
“But it still hurts, doesn’t it?” she asked. “I’m sure you know I lost my husband, too. We didn’t have children, but Cindy lived with us so I got to be a full-time stepmother.”
