Franco's Fortune (Redemption Book 2) (18 page)

“Jo, sweetheart. It’s okay to cry. I’m here for you
now.” Franco gathered her closer, holding her against his
chest.

His crooning tone was her undoing. The tears
returned then, huge drops rolling down her face and onto his bare
chest. Sobbing uncontrollably, she wound her arms around his neck
and welcomed the cleansing tears.

“Go ahead, darling,” he whispered. “Let it all
out.”

***

J
o opened her eyes and took
a deep breath as she stretched her sore muscles. The sweetly
pungent aroma of bacon cooking teased her nostrils. Her stomach
rumbled in response. She rolled over, rubbing her eyes against the
sleep that remained and let the memory of the night before wash
over her like a gentle rain.

The last thing she remembered was being held in
Franco’s arms as he soothed her troubled spirit. Consequently, she
slept better than she had in months, maybe years. She looked at the
other pillow and wondered if he’d stayed the night with her. Like
shadows poking through mist, hazy memories of his warm body beside
hers as she slept floated into her mind.

She rolled onto her side again and touched his
pillow, running her fingertips over the imprint Franco’s head had
left on the soft cotton cover. She’d really slept curled in his
arms. His signature scent of sandalwood lingered on the pillow. She
smiled.

A new, disturbing thought intruded and her smile
faded. In the light of day, would Franco be disgusted at what she’d
told him? Would he judge her as dirty, as damaged goods, like her
foster father, like Jimmy? She was strong. She’d survive. Tears
pooled in her eyes and she blinked. She thought she had no tears
left after last night. She glanced toward the bedside clock. Ten
o’clock!

Jo threw back the covers and leapt out of bed. She
hurried to her bathroom to freshen up, then slipped on a T-shirt
and a pair of sweatpants and her old loafers. Holding her gun, she
ran down the stairs and followed the mouth-watering bacon
scent.

She froze in the kitchen doorway and drank in the
sight of Franco at the stove cooking eggs and bacon. Dressed in a
black T-shirt and black jeans and wielding a spatula, he looked
hotter than the flame under the griddle.

He must have sensed her behind him because he turned
with a smile. Mingled with the desire in his eyes was something
else—something that made her heart beat faster.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he said.

Her stomach rumbled again but she ignored it. “You
shouldn’t have let me sleep. Poor Harris. He’s been up all night.”
The words poured from her, harsher than she’d intended.

With a soft laugh, Franco turned away to slide the
bacon and eggs onto a plate. He set down the spatula and held the
plate out to her. “Not a morning person? Have some coffee. Sit.
Eat. Stop worrying.” He glanced at the gun she held at her side. “I
don’t think you need that right now.”

Lured by the scent of coffee, eggs and bacon, she
moved into the room and laid her gun on the counter. “I have a
job.”

He set the plate on the counter, studying her with
softened eyes. “How are you feeling? You okay?”

She swallowed. “I’m good. Great, in fact. Thanks for
everything, Franco, for listening to me, for letting me cry. I’m
sorry I was so short with you a minute ago.”

He came to her and cupped the curve of her jaw with
his strong hands. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here for you whenever
you need to talk. I’ve got a tough hide. The important thing is
that you’re okay.”

A small bud of hope began to blossom in her heart.
She didn’t see any revulsion in his eyes, or hear even a hint of it
in his voice. She saw and heard only softness and caring. Holding
his gaze, she touched his hands that still cradled her face. “The
important thing is that we keep you safe. Where’s Harris? Is he
outside patrolling? I need to tell him he can go home now.”

“Sit.” He pulled away and gestured her to one of the
stools. “Harris had breakfast and left an hour ago.”

“And you let me sleep?”

“It’s okay. A patrol car’s outside. Morelli sent it
over, but it was Logan’s idea.”

“You’ve been busy.” Head spinning, Jo sank onto the
stool. Franco slid the plate of bacon and eggs closer. The toaster
popped up two slices, and he turned to butter them.

He set a steaming mug of coffee and a plate with the
buttered toast in front of her, then pulled out a stool and sat.
“Eat,” he said, snagging a piece of toast for himself.

Her empty stomach protested with another rumble, and
she pressed a palm against it. She couldn’t remember the last time
she’d eaten. They were safe for now. A patrol car was outside.
Forcing herself to relax, she dug into the delicious breakfast.

Later, her stomach full, she pushed the empty plate
away.

Franco’s lips quirked in a smile. “You were
hungry.”

“Thanks for breakfast. It was delicious.” She
sighed. “I’m not hungry now and I need answers.” She needed answers
about more than her protection of Franco. She was as disarmed about
her feelings for him as she’d been while grappling with DiGiacomo.
But she was still a professional and personal questions would have
to wait.

“Start talking,” she said. “Why is a patrol car
outside and what does Logan have to do with it?”

“I woke up about six and came downstairs to think,”
he began.

“You should have woken me.”

“You looked so beautiful and peaceful. A princess.
You needed to sleep.”

Her face burned. She looked away, gathering her
emotions close. Feeling more in control, she turned back to him.
“I’m no princess and I’m here to keep you safe. Now keep talking.
What did I miss?”

He got up and poured himself a cup of coffee, taking
his time fixing it, then settled back onto his stool. He took a sip
of his drink before setting the cup down and turning to her.

“Why can’t you move and talk at the same time?” she
demanded. “Talk.”

“Impatient, aren’t you? Morelli called me about
seven. They’d been questioning DiGiacomo for hours. He admitted to
the things he told you yesterday—the drive-by, to putting the note
into my pocket at the wine store, and following us on the turnpike.
But he won’t admit to any of the more serious things—claims he
never made the threatening calls or asked for money and that he
knows nothing about the attack outside the restaurant, the rock
thrown through the window or the bomb placed in my car.”

Chills chased up her spine. “I knew it. There’s
someone else involved. You’re still in danger.”

“We’re not so sure about that. Morelli thinks
DiGiacomo might be denying some of the heavier stuff to bargain for
a lighter sentence, but he’s not willing to wager our lives on it.
And Logan agrees. DiGiacomo’s already in a hell of a lot of trouble
for his attack on you. He doesn’t want the other stuff pinned on
him too.”

“I don’t buy it. Something isn’t right. Why the
police car? I thought the police were short-staffed. Besides,
Harris and I are your security team.”

“After I spoke with Morelli, Harris called Logan and
we all talked it over. If someone else is involved, we agreed we
should try to flush him out.”

Franco took Jo’s hand and held it in his warm grip,
his eyes serious. “I don’t like the idea of putting you in any
further danger. I fought them on that part of the plan, but even
Morelli thinks it’s a good idea.”

“I don’t run from danger, Franco. Logan knows what
he’s doing. I’m not afraid.”

“But I’m afraid for you.”

“Don’t be.”

He smiled. “Look at what you did to DiGiacomo.”

She returned his smile. “You should see me when I
really get started. Now explain how we’re going to flush out the
other perp, if there is one.”

“The police have already let the neighbors know
they’ve got the guy who’s been after me, but as a precaution,
they’re keeping a patrol car there today. Morelli had his sources
spread the word on the street. We figure with the patrol car so
prominent and the word on the street, if there is another perp,
he’ll think he’s free to make his play as soon as the car’s
gone.”

She slid her hand from his and frowned. “We all sit
around and wait for something to happen?”

“If there’s someone else after me, we think he’ll
make his move in the next day or two. The police are going to run
regular patrols along the street, Harris will still guard me at
work, and you’ll be here. We go about our business as usual.”

He leaned closer. “I insisted on more patrols than
Morelli wanted to give. The promise of a big donation to the police
benevolent fund helped.”

“Money talks,” she said with a shake of her head.
“What if nothing happens in the next day or two?”

“The police will continue to grill DiGiacomo, but if
things stay quiet, Morelli feels certain that will mean DiGiacomo
is our only guy.”

“If there is anyone else involved, I suspect they
might be smarter than we think. Why wouldn’t they wait us out?”

He stood. “No more questions for now. The police are
handling things today. You need to rest. We’ll worry about tomorrow
then.”

She let him take her hand and help her up. They
stood a whisper apart. His clean, soapy scent reached out to her,
warming her all over. Her fingers itched to touch the dark stubble
on his face and trace the line of his full lips.

“I don’t want to rest.” The huskiness of her voice
surprised her.

His blue eyes darkened to midnight. “What do you
want?”

“Make love to me, Franco.”

Surprise, desire, elation chased across his face.
“Are you sure DiGiacomo didn’t hit you on the head?”

“I wasn’t hit on the head, my thoughts are very
clear, and your hearing is fine. I know what I want.”

Staring down at her with an expression of wonder, he
gathered her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. “I want
you, Jo. I have for a long time. Are you sure? I’d never do
anything to hurt you.”

“More sure than I’ve been about anything in my
life,” she whispered. “And I know you would never hurt me.”

He pulled away and held her at arm’s length. “Jo.”
The way he said her name, filled with raw yearning and need, made
her heart stutter with joy. He skimmed a finger over the cut on her
lip. “Does this hurt?”

“I don’t care if it does. I want you.”

Taking her face between his hands, he kissed her
softly, sweetly, careful of her cut lip. She didn’t want soft and
sweet. Her hunger and craving for him exploded, sending shock waves
of longing through her. With a small moan, she pressed against him,
melding her body to his strong frame.

He kissed her long and hard until her senses reeled
and her legs turned to jelly. The pain from her cut was nothing
compared to the desire that swept her. He released her, but held
her hands tightly as if he were afraid she’d run away. “I’ve wanted
you for so long.”

“I’m here and all yours.”

Holding onto her hand, he started to pull her from
the kitchen. She grabbed her gun from the counter. At his raised
eyebrow, she shrugged.

He led her through the dining and living rooms and
up the stairs. When they reached the second floor, he pulled her
into his room, then folded her into his embrace and kissed her
temple. “If you knew what you do to me.” He stared at her with
hooded eyes. “You’re not afraid? I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll
stop if that’s what you want.”

Old fears surfaced. She shoved them aside. “Love me.
Please.”

Taking her hand, he led her to his king-sized bed.
Covered in dark green silk, it dominated the room. She’d done a
quick check of his suite the day she’d moved in, but hadn’t been in
it since. The walls of the spacious room were painted a soft cream,
the furniture modern and sleek. She set her gun carefully on the
nightstand next to the bed.

Franco drew back the comforter, then turned and
brushed his fingers over her face. His eyes smoldered. His
masculine scent filled her and loosened the knot of anxiety in her
stomach.

Unable to look away from his sinful gaze, she
splayed her palms on his chest. The rapid beating of his heart
against her palms vibrated through her as he slipped a hand beneath
her fall of hair and massaged her nape. He ran a finger gently over
her lips, then dipped his head and claimed her mouth in a fervid
kiss that sent fire shooting through her veins.

His tongue teased and cajoled until she opened to
him. He tasted of coffee and bacon and desire. Her body felt
boneless, hot, needy. Her breasts swelled and tightened. A
strangled groan escaped her.

He drew away and reached for the hem of her T-shirt.
With gentle, sure fingers he slipped it over her head and threw it
on the floor. He stepped back and gazed at her. Her nipples
hardened and puckered under his scrutiny, as if begging for his
touch.

“You are so beautiful.” He reached out and filled
his hands with her breasts, caressing and kneading, his touch
scorching. The raw hunger in his eyes fed an answering hunger in
her, a craving for more than his body—for his soul.

She grasped his upper arms, afraid her legs would
give out under the onslaught of pleasure and longing he incited in
her.

When he bent to take one of her nipples into his
mouth, she gasped and gripped his arms tighter. He massaged her
breast and swept his tongue over each erect nipple. The air around
them thickened, heavy with desire.

His breathing labored, he pulled away. “You should
never wear a bra.” His eyes softened and his voice held wonder.
“Your breasts are too beautiful to imprison.”

She laughed softly as pleasure swirled through her.
He’d said her body was beautiful. She’d never believed that
before.

His sizzling gaze still on her, he slid her sweats
down her legs. She slipped out of her loafers, kicked them away,
and stepped out of her pants. Franco spanned her waist with his
hands and drew her closer.