Page 25 of Recruited By the Billionaire

But Francesca most certainly was nothing like that. And he didn’t know how to balance that reality. Because he wanted her body again. That was a fact. He’d never wanted anybody’s body the way he wanted hers in his bedroom on that plane. Four times? He still couldn’t believe he was able to get it up four times in a matter of a couple hours! But he did. He couldn’t get enough of that pliable, sleek black body that turned him on unlike he’d ever been turned on before.

The problem wasn’t her body. The problem was her! He wanted to be around her again too! He wanted to smell her sweet scent and feel her in his arms again. He enjoyed talking with her and laughing with her. She made him feel, for the first time in his entire life, that she didn’t want what she could get out of him. That she just might want him for being, not rich, not powerful, not well-connected, but for beingwhohe is, notwhathe is.

Then why did he ignore her? If she was so great, why couldn’t he bring himself to get to know her better?

Because she would want more from him than he knew how to give.

Because she wouldn’t settle for less than his all.

Because his heart would get involved just like it did with his first wife. And he vowed to never let that ever happen again.

And the idea of forsaking all others just to be with one particular person all the time was too strange to him. He couldn’t even envision that as something good. Because what would it lead to? Marriage? He’d never seen a good marriage in his life. Including his. Or love? Fuck love! What’s love got to do with it when you feel as if you’ve been caged in? Been there, done that. That kind of life was not for him.

Although he couldn’t get her off of his mind, he knew he had to. He wasn’t committing the way she wanted, which meant that was that. Leave that shit alone. Leave that sweet lady alone. And so he decided to do just that.

He drained down the rest of his whiskey, and took himself back to bed.

But he still couldn’t sleep. And when he did doze off, he was dreaming of Francesca again.

He gave up. He got out of bed again, got dressed, called his security chief even though it was the middle of the night, got her address and what kind of car she drove, and headed straight for her apartment.

“Not in the best part of town,” his security chief had warned him. Which worried Robert too. Not for his own safety. He could handle himself. But for Francesca’s. What did they pay aides in the recruiting office anyway?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When knocks were heard on her front door, Frankie had been tossing and turning all night too. And she’d been thinking about Robert as well, but only she was thinking about how he treated her after their bed action and how easily she allowed her life to spiral out of control again. There were no dreams about her rescuing him or him rescuing her. It was all about how disappointed she was with herself.

She got out of bed, put on her robe, and made her way to her front door, wondering who in the world would be knocking that time of night.

When she looked out of the peephole and saw that it was Robert standing there, she didn’t know what to make of it. Why was he at her apartment all of a sudden? When it was in the bright light of day and her colleagues were around, and he could have done something to help salvage her reputation, he ignored her. Wouldn’t even look at her. Made her feel like a mangy dog. Now he wanted to show up under cover of darkness and do what? Apologize to her? He could keep his apology. Or even worst, did he wantanother booty call? Was he that depraved?

But she knew she brought it all on herself. Why was she blaming him for treating her badly when her decision to sleep with him gave him permission to do just that? She could not have felt dirtier.

That was why, as Robert knocked and knocked, she took herself back to bed.

Robert stood at her door a few minutes longer, knocking occasionally, rattling around the change in his pants pockets. But he knew the deal. It was the early morning hours. Her car was in the parking lot. She was at home alright, and possibly was fast asleep. But his instincts told him she wasn’t asleep at all. She just didn’t want to have anything more to do with him. She just wasn’t going to open that door.

Anybody else and he would fire their ass. Who did she think she was?

The woman recovering from his hit and run.

The woman he didn’t defend on that plane when he so easily could have.

The woman who probably hated him now.

He walked out of that quiet apartment building, got back in his Porsche, and sped away like the prick he truly was. What was he thinking, he thought as he drove. That woman more than likely despised him now. She probably thought he was coming for her body again when, in truth, maybe that was all his impulsive decision was all about anyway.

But he knew it was about a whole lot more.

And he still couldn’t, for the life of him, get Francesca Clark out of his head.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Thanks for picking me up.”

“You need a new car, Frankie.”

“It just need a new water pump. Why would I turn in a car that’s paid for to get a fat-ass car note I can’t afford right now over a water pump? No thank you. I’m good.”

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