Franco's Fortune (Redemption Book 2) (5 page)

“Stop trying to pull down your dress,” Anita said
beside her. “You look amazing. Who knew under those fatigues and
T-shirts was a sexy woman with a great body? You’ll floor
Franco.”

“I told you I’m here to do a job. I don’t care what
Franco thinks of my disguise.” But a part of her did. The low
neckline of the dress and the lacy push-up bra made her breasts
look bigger. She hated to admit it, but she felt sexy. Jo knew she
had a good body. She worked out and kept in shape.

“You’re just what Franco needs,” Anita said.

Jo’s response drifted away as the Town Car eased up
to the curb out front and Harris jumped out, then opened the door
for Franco. Dressed in a dark blue suit that fit him as if it were
tailor-made, which, Jo decided, it probably had been, and with his
hair slicked back, Franco’s elegant look spoke of a world where she
didn’t belong.

She yanked on the hem of her dress.

Anita slapped Jo’s hand. “Stop fooling with the
dress,” she said as she hurried to unlock the door for the men.

“Hey, cuz,” Franco said, sliding in and giving Anita
a light kiss on the cheek. Harris gave Anita a curt hello before
she closed the door behind them.

Franco slid his glance to Jo and froze. His brow
furrowed, then his gaze made a slow trip down her body and back to
her face. His eyes grew dark and hot. He walked toward her, then
took one of her hands in his. He lifted her hand and turned it
over, brushing a soft kiss on her wrist. Her skin tingled where he
touched. He leaned toward her and whispered in her ear, “I like
your hair. You look amazing.”

He was focused on her like a laser. Jo felt the rest
of the world fade away as his eyes devoured her. No wonder he had
so many beautiful women after him. She wanted to shoot back with a
smart retort but words dried in her throat.

He smiled as if he could read her thoughts. “First
time I’ve ever known you to be speechless, Fortune.”

His teasing tone broke through the spell he’d held
her in. “Don’t get too used to it, Callahan.”

He laughed. “That’s my Jo. I knew you were in there
somewhere.”

Heat suffused her cheeks and she lowered her
eyes.

“I guess you’d better get going.” Anita strode to
the reception desk and grabbed the shopping bags holding Jo’s
products and the new clothes. “Don’t forget these.” She handed the
bags to Harris. “And, Jo, your wrap.” She snatched the silk shawl
from the counter. The delicate shawl, in iridescent shades of green
and gold, shimmered like dragonfly wings.

Franco took the wrap from Anita and placed it over
Jo’s shoulders, unobtrusively sliding his fingers down her arms in
a delicious caress that left a trail of fire in their wake.
Grasping her small jeweled purse like a lifeline in one hand, Jo
took the arm Franco offered.

“Just a minute.” Anita stepped toward them and
fluffed Jo’s hair around her face. She leaned close to whisper in
Jo’s ear. “Remember what I said. The man practically melted when he
saw you. You’ve got the power.”

***

T
he elegant restaurant fell
into a hush when they walked in. Diners, some discreet, others more
brazen, craned their necks to watch Jo and Franco as they wove
their way between white-clothed tables. Previously a bank, the
large room, dominated by graceful marble columns and brass accents,
had an Old World feel. Soft lighting swathed the room in romantic
shadows. It was clear Franco frequented the restaurant. He called
the maitre d´ by name and nodded to a few people seated at the
tables. Most of the patrons looked quickly away when Jo’s gaze met
theirs. But others assessed her with bold looks, especially the
women. To her surprise quite a few men sent her admiring
glances.

Franco put his hand on Jo’s waist as they followed
Maurice, the maitre d´, to a small table tucked into a corner. When
Maurice pulled out a chair that would have her sitting with her
back to the room, she shook her head and indicated the other chair,
the one where she had a full view of the room. Maurice graciously
pulled out the chair she wanted and she sat. Franco sat across from
her. With a smile and a flourish, the maitre d´ handed them menus
printed on heavy vellum and left.

Jo opened her menu and scanned the selections. Her
eyes widened. There weren’t any prices. She’d heard of restaurants
like this, where the women’s menus didn’t show the prices. It would
be nice for a change to order whatever she wanted and not worry
about the cost.

“See anything you like?” Franco asked.

She glanced at him over the top of the menu. “Most
of the entrees seem to be steak.”

He laughed. “It is a steakhouse after all.”

“That explains it.” She chewed her lip, studying the
menu. “Maybe a filet mignon? I’m not sure.”

“I eat here often. Okay with you if I order for both
of us? Or do you want to be in control of the food too?” His
teasing tone softened his words and made her smile.

“Sure,” she said with a shrug. “This is your field
of expertise. Remember that security is mine. Quit fighting me and
let me do my job.”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

After the wine steward took their drink order,
Franco signaled their waiter that they were ready to order. “Filet
for both of us, Paolo, the way I always have it.”

While they waited for their food, they sipped their
drinks—Franco, a deep red cabernet, and Jo, sparkling water.

She took a long sip of the refreshing water and
carefully scanned the large room. Everything seemed normal. She
breathed a little easier, but didn’t let up her guard. When she set
the crystal goblet on the table and raised her eyes, Franco was
staring at her over the rim of his glass. His intense gaze made Jo
touch her mouth, wondering if she had crumbs on her face from the
delicious hot roll she’d eaten. “What?”

With a smile, Franco set down his glass, reached
across the table, and touched the tip of her nose. “I like the new
look, but I miss the freckles. I’m glad you didn’t cover up the
beauty mark.”

“It’s a mole.”

He laughed.

She fidgeted over the admiration in his eyes, his
admiration a double-edged sword. What he liked wasn’t really her.
She wanted him to like the real Jo, not this glamorous
imitation.

She pulled her wrap tighter across her shoulders,
hiding the new façade and maybe even her foolish pride. Franco knew
how to push her buttons, make her react, yet it was all an act. She
was someone with a skill set he needed—for awhile. When this case
was over, they’d go their separate ways again. Until then the case
was her focus. Nothing else.

“We have some business to discuss,” she said.

“You’re going to ruin a great dinner with
business?”

“When it means your safety, yes.”

“Care about me that much, Fortune?”

“Just doing my job.”

“What do you want to talk about?” His features
tensed. “And if it’s about the door, forget it. We argued about it
enough last night. I’m not changing it.”

“I’ve already contacted a company about switching
the back door to a steel one.”

He picked up his wine goblet and finished off his
drink. The wine steward hurried over and refilled the glass.

Franco’s gaze held hers. “My house is over one
hundred years old. I can do what I want with the interior, but the
exterior has to keep its historic character. I don’t want the
historical society on my butt.”

“You’ve got a lot more problems than a snooty
historical society. My job is to keep you alive. Someone broke in
through the back door before and they can do it again. We’ll store
the door in the basement until you’re safe again, then you can
switch it back. And if your neighbors complain, tell them to go
pound sand.”

“Easy for you to say. I have to live with these
people. And I like my door.”

“Too bad. It’s getting changed.”

He stared at her for long seconds, and she suspected
he fought with himself. Then his features relaxed. “I can see I’m
losing this round.”

She traced her fingers over the rivulets of cool
water running down the sides of her goblet. He was finally getting
that she knew best how to protect him. “I’ll set up the appointment
for the door for day after tomorrow. I’d have the door done
tomorrow, but I have to meet with Anita’s friend Mitzi and go
shopping for a new wardrobe.” She rolled her eyes. “Your protection
is more important than my clothes, Franco. I think I should
postpone the shopping trip until the new door is in.”

“No. We agreed. You want to carry this masquerade
off, you dress the part.”

“My point exactly. We’re both making concessions
here.”

Sipping his wine, he leaned back in his chair. “As
part of the deal, I’ll give in about the door. I have a security
system now. Go on your shopping trip. One more day with the old
door won’t hurt.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t have a security
system in that expensive house until after someone broke in.”

“And I can’t believe you don’t want to go shopping
for new clothes. You look amazing tonight.”

“Don’t change the subject. These clothes are not
me.”

“Yes, they are. You just don’t want to admit how
sexy you are. Every man in this room wishes you were with him.
Didn’t you see the looks you got when we came in?”

She had, but wouldn’t admit it to him. “That wasn’t
for me. That was curiosity to see who you had with you.”

“Sweetheart, trust me. The guys were checking you
out. I’m the envy of every guy here.”

He sounded proud to be with her. She took a long
swig of her drink, as if she could swallow away the pleasure that
thought gave her.

“The clothes are yours,” she said, setting down her
empty glass. “You’re paying for them. When this case is over, I’m
leaving them with you. You know I have an expense account.”

“I don’t want Logan’s money. The clothes are my gift
to you. Take them.”

“I don’t want anything from you. Besides, I’m more
comfortable in my fatigues.”

“I don’t believe that,” he said. “I think you know
how terrific you look tonight, and I think you like it.”

She drummed her fingers on the table, unwilling to
acknowledge the truth of his words, even to herself.

He reached over and took one of her hands in his,
studying it, then he rubbed a finger over the thin scars on her
knuckles. “Did you get these in the line of duty?”

“One of the perks of the job.”

He turned her hand over and made circles on her palm
with his finger. Delicious shivers ran up her arm.

Franco’s eyes softened. “Jo, what are you afraid of?
You hide behind those unflattering fatigues as if you’re scared to
let anyone see how beautiful you are and what a perfect body you
have. Don’t hide yourself anymore. Be proud of who you are.”

Lowering her gaze, she took shallow breaths. He’d
figured her out. Unacceptable.

“Jo?”

She gathered her courage and met his gaze.

“You can tell me anything,” he said. “I won’t hurt
you. I’d never hurt you.”

“End of conversation.” She pulled free.

“Damn it, Jo,” he said in a soft voice.

Wanting to flee the table, the restaurant, his
knowing gaze, she looked away, and noticed a stunning blonde
heading toward them with determined strides. Jo sat straighter, her
attention zeroed, laser-like, on the blonde. Beautiful didn’t mean
harmless.

With a rustle of silk and a whiff of expensive
perfume, the woman reached their table and looked down at them. In
a heavily accented voice, she intoned, “If it isn’t Franco
Callahan.”

Wearing a skintight white dress that left little to
the imagination and sky-high gold sandals, the blonde stood well
over six feet tall. Her straight hair flowed past her waist.

Franco cleared his throat and stood up. “Elise. Good
to see you again.”

“Don’t give me that
merde,
” the blonde
said.

The blonde was probably French, judging from the
accent and the French word for shit.

“You promised to call me,” the French woman said.
“That was over six months ago. And what do I hear from you?
Nothing.”

“I didn’t promise to call,” Franco said. “I told you
I’d try. I’m very busy at work. You know that.”

The other woman looked down at Jo, seeming to notice
her for the first time. “Is this your work?” Her icy blue eyes
looked Jo up and down. “You like little redheads now?” Disdain
dripped from her voice.

Franco blew out a breath. “Elise, this is Jo. And
this is not a place to discuss our differences.”

The blonde’s gaze met Jo’s. “Don’t trust this piece
of excrement. He’ll say anything to get into your bed.” She turned
back to Franco and ran her hand over his lapel. “But he’s worth it.
Call me, Franco,” she said in a sultry purr.

Franco’s hands clenched at his sides and a muscle
twitched in his jaw. Amused to see his discomfort, Jo stifled a
laugh.

The waiter came just then with their food, putting
an end to the little tableau.

“You’ll have to excuse us, Elise,” Franco said. “And
by the way, I’m with Jo now, and that’s where I want to be.”

Jo blinked at his words. With effort, she reminded
herself Franco was playing a part. That was all. And she’d do well
to remember that.

The joy the evening had engendered in her heart
dissolved.

<><><>

“That was delicious.” Jo let out a satisfied sigh
and leaned back in her chair. “I’ve never tasted such a tender
steak. I could cut it with a butter knife. And that seasoning was
to die for.”

Franco smiled. “I knew you’d like the wild porcini
rub.”

“It was exquisite.”

His smile faded and his eyes darkened. Moving
closer, he touched her hand where it rested on the table. “You’re
exquisite. I enjoyed watching you enjoy the meal.”