Franco's Fortune (Redemption Book 2) (17 page)

Franco touched the end of her nose in a teasing
gesture. “I’ll be finished here soon, then we’ll go watch some TV.
Unless you need to go to sleep now.”

“I’m not sleepy. Mindless TV is just what I need.”
She needed him too, but she couldn’t say that.

When Harris came back from his tour and settled in
the kitchen, a bowl of candy in front of him, to work on his
laptop, Jo and Franco headed upstairs to the media room. Jo laughed
all the way through the comedy they’d streamed and was sorry to see
it end. She glanced at Franco beside her on the plush sofa as he
hit the remote and turned off the TV. When he put an arm around her
shoulders, drawing her close, she snuggled into him.

“Loved the movie,” she said. “Thanks. It felt good
to laugh.”

“I loved hearing you laugh.”

Jo felt a yawn coming and tried to stifle it but
couldn’t.

“Time for you to go to bed.” Franco stood and took
her hand, pulling her up.

<><><>

With an evil grin, he closed her bedroom door and
slithered across the room toward her. Trembling, Jo pulled the
covers up to her chin. She knew what he wanted, what he’d do to
her.

“
Please,” she whimpered. “Please.”

When he got to her bed, he tore the covers from her
and yanked them away. His eyes seemed to glow in the pale moonlight
cascading through the windows. He crawled into the bed with her.
The mattress squeaked the protest she couldn’t voice. She tried to
scream, but nothing came out.

He put his hand under her nightgown and rubbed her
private parts. “You know what to do,” he said. “You know what I
like.”

She screamed.

Jo shot up in bed and clutched the comforter close
with shaking hands. Her face felt wet. From sweat or tears? Her
long T-shirt was bunched around her thighs.

The bedroom door flew open. Clad only in boxers,
Franco burst into the room.

The sound of running footsteps on the stairs
vibrated through the house, then Harris, gun drawn, raced into the
room.

“What’s going on?” Harris asked.

Jo clutched the comforter closer. “I had a bad
dream. That’s all.”

Franco waved a hand at Harris. “I’ll take care of
her.”

With a nod, Harris left the room, shutting the door
behind him.

Then Franco was at her bedside. He sat down and
reached for her. With remnants of her dream lingering, she shrank
away from him.

“What is it, darling?” He gently brushed strands of
hair from her face and hooked them behind her ear. “Everything’s
okay. I’m here.”

Jo took a shuddering breath, forcing herself to
relax. Still clutching the comforter, she leaned back on the
headboard. “I’m all right now.” She hated that her voice shook. “My
confrontation with DiGiacomo today must have started the nightmares
again. I haven’t had one in years.”

“Nightmares?”

She nodded.

“Tell me about your dreams.”

“I can’t.”

“It might help to talk about it. Jo, please let me
in.”

She held his gaze. Could she trust him? She was so
tired of carrying her burden alone.

Like the monster of her nightmare, pale moonlight
reflected in Franco’s eyes. But unlike in her nightmare, Franco’s
eyes held concern—and something else. Something that began to melt
the terror of her dream.

With one hand still wrapped around the comforter,
she glanced toward the window. “I try not to think about it when
I’m alone. Only a few people, a few trusted people, know.”

“Do you trust me?” he asked quietly.

She stared into his eyes and found what she wanted.
“Yes.”

His lips quirked in a soft smile and he reached out
to skim a finger along her bottom lip. “Thanks for that.” He
loosened her hand from the bedclothes and held it firmly in his
grip. “Go ahead, Jo, and take your time.”

Like someone drowning, she grabbed the lifeline he
offered. “I dreamt he was coming for me again.” Her voice sounded
small.

Franco went very still. “Who was coming for
you?”

“My stepfather.”

“Oh, Jo.” He gathered her into his arms and rocked
her. She wanted to cry, but no tears came. She hadn’t cried since
she was eight years old.

“Why don’t you tell me about it? Maybe I can help.
Okay if I…” He indicated making himself comfortable next to
her.

She nodded.

He rearranged himself on the bed, then settled her
against him with an arm around her shoulders. All Jo felt was
numb.

She focused on a spot on the opposite wall where a
modern painting hung. The vibrant colors of red, blue and green
were muted in the moonlight. Like her life the day her father died.
He’d taken all the brightness with him.

Would Franco still want her when he learned the
truth, or would he be disgusted and reject her, like her ex-fiancé
had? She wanted, needed, to unburden herself. Franco was a caring
person. She’d seen the evidence of his compassionate nature and
felt it deep in her soul.

With a sigh, still not looking at Franco, she began.
“When I was six my father died. I loved him so much. He was always
there for me, unlike my mother. My mother was an extremely
beautiful woman who craved attention from men. I don’t know what in
her background made her so insecure. I think she looked on me as a
threat, as competition. She looked at all females like that. Even
as a child I felt it. My father made up for her lack of maternal
instincts.” Jo clenched her hand on her thigh, fighting the nausea
the memories provoked. “It’s been twenty-seven years and I still
miss him.”

Franco kissed the top of her head. “Take your time,”
he said gently. “We’ve got all night and I’m not going
anywhere.”

Although the memories were painful, with Franco
beside her, she could do this. “When my father died, my world
ended. My mother was afraid to be alone. She couldn’t be without a
man. Within a year she’d remarried. My stepfather was my father’s
opposite. My stepfather hit my mother and treated her like crap but
she took it.”

Jo drew shallow, calming breaths. “One night when I
was eight, my stepfather came into my room while I was sleeping. I
woke to find him on top of me. My mother was out with friends.” A
sob tore from her and she buried her face against Franco’s hard
chest. He pulled her closer.

“He raped you.” Anger seethed in Franco’s voice.

She nodded. “That’s when it began.”

“Oh, God, Jo.” He stroked her hair. “I’m so
sorry.”

“He raped me continually for almost six months,” she
continued in a voice as barren as she felt inside. “Each time my
mother was out or at work. He threatened that if I told her, he’d
make her send me to a foster home.” She released a bitter laugh. “I
went to a foster home all right, but he didn’t send me there. My
mother did.”

“What?”

“I finally told my mother what he’d done. She didn’t
believe me. So I told my teacher, who did believe me, and she told
the authorities. I had to endure an awful physical, but it
confirmed I’d been…been violated. Even after the medical proof, my
mother didn’t believe me. They arrested my stepfather.”

“You were so brave, Jo. The sonofabitch can’t hurt
any more kids.”

She pulled back to look up at Franco. His eyes held
fury, sadness, and understanding, but no disgust. “He told my
mother and the police that I’d seduced him.”

“Oh, for the love of—”

“I was
eight years old
!”

Franco rubbed a hand down her back until she stopped
sobbing. When she finally gained the courage to look into his eyes
again, she found his face ashen in the moonlight.

He pulled her to him, holding her with tenderness,
as if he thought she’d break. “I’d never hit a woman,” he said, his
voice low with fury, “but I’d have a hard time controlling my
temper around your mother. Is the sonofabitch still in jail?”

“I hear he’s out now and back with her.” Franco
didn’t let go of her as she continued. “Soon after he was arrested,
she gave me up to the state. She said I was a liar. Said she
couldn’t trust me. She didn’t want me anymore. I spent the next ten
years in foster care.”

Gently, he smoothed her hair. “You didn’t have any
relatives who could have taken you?”

“No. My dad had a brother somewhere but they’d been
estranged for years. My grandparents were dead, and my mother was
an only child.”

“Poor Jo.”

She drew back. “I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity. I care for you. I’m sad for the
child you were and in awe of the strong woman who overcame all
that.”

Jo didn’t know what to make of that. “Sometimes I
wonder how much I have overcome it.” She looked around, feeling
lost.

Franco gathered her to him again and kissed her
tenderly on the forehead, then released her. “Don’t ever sell
yourself short. You’re a hell of a woman, Josephine Fortune.”

“Thanks, I guess.” She leaned her shoulder against
the headboard and leveled her gaze at him. “I’ve got to get it all
out. If I stop now, I’ll lose my nerve.” Her thin T-shirt was no
barrier against the April chill that permeated the room. Shivering,
she folded her arms across her chest.

He reached down, pulled the bedclothes up, and
covered them both.

Jo shimmied closer until they touched
thigh-to-thigh. His heat warmed her heart and her body. With him so
close she could fight the demons. “Some of my foster homes were
okay,” she continued. “They treated me well enough, but I never
forgot I didn’t belong with those families. I never stayed in one
home very long. I acted out and got into trouble, minor scrapes at
school or with the law. The foster parents said I was too angry and
they didn’t want to handle me. When I was seventeen, my foster
father tried to rape me.”

She released a harsh laugh. “Just like they all do,
he said he was giving me what I wanted, that I’d been coming onto
him—but this time I fought back. I knocked him over the head with a
lamp and kicked him as hard as I could. He ended up in the
emergency room. His wife didn’t believe my story, just like my
mother. She said I was a slut, claimed I went after her husband.
She wanted me prosecuted for assault.”

Jo slid the comforter down to her waist and picked
at the ends, not looking at Franco. “The family court judge took
pity on me. He arranged for me to live with him and his wife and do
community service rather than go to juvie. I stayed with them
almost a year until I turned eighteen.” With a small smile, she
looked up at Franco. “They were wonderful people. I’m still in
touch with them.”

With exquisite gentleness, he skimmed his finger
over the mole on her face. “I’m glad you found some good people.
What did you do when you were eighteen?”

“I joined the Army. That’s where I met Logan. He’d
been Special Ops, but was working as a trainer on our base.” She
rubbed a hand over her eyes as another painful memory spiked
through her. “I fell in love with another enlistee, Jimmy McKee. He
promised we’d get married as soon as we were out of basic. I told
myself Jimmy would give me all I ever wanted—a home, family, love.
Turned out he was a scum, but if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have
gotten to know Logan.”

She looked down. “I couldn’t relax enough to enjoy
sex with Jimmy. He said I was frigid. I figured if I told him my
story, he’d understand why I found sex so…so unfulfilling, and he’d
learn to be gentle and patient with me. So I told him everything.
He wouldn’t touch me after that, wouldn’t have anything to do with
me.”

She raised her gaze to Franco. “Just like the
others, deep down Jimmy blamed me for what had happened, that
somehow being raped was my fault. How can that be?”

Franco reached for her, but she waved him away. “No.
I need to finish. Right after Jimmy broke up with me, I was so
upset I couldn’t concentrate on my training. I kept screwing up.
Logan took me aside and asked what was going on. Maybe it was the
sadness in Logan’s eyes that made me think he’d understand. I told
him Jimmy had rejected me and why.”

She gave Franco a small smile. “I won’t repeat the
names Logan called him. Jimmy hadn’t done anything against Army
rules so Logan couldn’t officially punish him, but after that day,
Logan rode Jimmy hard, making him do his routines over and over. It
was fun to watch. I knew then Logan would always have my back. He
never judged me and he treated me with respect.

“Logan saved my life. He’s the brother I never had.
Even when his enlistment was up, he kept in touch. I knew I could
always call on him if I got into trouble. He and the Army changed
me. No man messes with me now.”

“Don’t I know that.”

A laugh bubbled up in her. Her body felt lighter, as
if an immense weight had dropped off. She felt her strength return
as she sat up, spine straight.

“Did you and Logan…did you ever?” he asked.

Her laugh died and she frowned. “God, no. The guy’s
a hunk and all that, but I just told you he’s like a brother.
That’s all he’s ever been to me, a big brother. And besides, he was
carrying a torch for Doriana. I realized later his eyes were sad
because he still loved her and thought he’d lost her forever.” She
smiled. “His eyes aren’t sad anymore.”

“Logan and Doriana are one of the happiest couples I
know.” Franco said. “But we’re talking about you now. I want to
know all I can about you, Jo Fortune.”

“You mean Misfortune.”

“What?”

“I got teased in school a lot. The kids called me Jo
Misfortune.”

He kissed her, a soft kiss, gentle as a whisper.
“I’ll never call you that.”

“I know.” She moved closer, and he put an arm around
her shoulders, pressing her against his side.

“When you got out of the Army, you went to work for
Logan?” he asked.

“I did.”

“You don’t see your mother anymore?”

“She’s dead to me. She would have let that filthy
scum abuse me all he wanted so long as I didn’t tell anyone and she
didn’t lose her man.” Jo’s eyes misted over despite her best
intentions. No matter how much time passed, the pain of her
mother’s betrayal and abandonment was still raw. “She gave away her
own
daughter
.” Jo choked back her tears. She wouldn’t lose
it again. Not now. Not in front of Franco.