Page 27 of Tempting Frankie
Still waiting.
My driver opens the door, and she slides in beside me.
“I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long,” she says, a hint of apprehension in her voice.
I let my gaze roam over her, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks. “I'd wait an eternity for you, pretty girl.”
The drive to my estate is quiet, Francesca's hand resting on my thigh. I can feel the tension radiating off her in waves. When we arrive at the gate, I hear her sharp intake of breath.
As we pull up to the house, she tenses. “Holy shit,” she whispers, and I can't help the surge of pride that courses through me. “I forgot how massive this place is.”
“Welcome home, Francesca,” I say, relishing the way her name and home roll off my tongue when strung together.
We leave the car, and I lead her through the grand foyer, my hand resting possessively on the small of her back, fingers flexing, and I’m trying to avoid the urge to rip her dress off and fuck her in the entryway. Her eyes dart everywhere, taking inthe soaring ceilings, the crystal chandelier, the priceless artwork adorning the walls.
“This place is fucking massive,” she mutters, and I chuckle at her candor.
“Wait until you see the rest,” I promise, guiding her toward the living room. “This is where we'll spend most of our time together when we're not otherwise occupied.”
Her cheeks flush at the implication, and I have to resist the urge to push her up against the nearest wall and devour her right there. My appetite for her cannot be described as anything else but gluttonous.
We move through the house, and I point out the various rooms—the state-of-the-art kitchen, the home theater, the gym. With each new revelation, Francesca's eyes grow wider, and I find myself captivated by her genuine wonder.
“And this,” I say, pausing before a set of double doors, “is my study. Off limits unless I invite you in.”
She raises an eyebrow, a hint of her usual sass returning. “What, you got bodies hidden in there or something?”
I lean in close, my lips brushing her ear. “No bodies, pretty girl. Just a lot of very important, very confidential business documents. And maybe a few toys I'd like to use on you someday.”
Her breath hitches, and I can practically feel the heat radiating off her skin. “Fuck,” she whispers.
“Soon,” I promise, my voice low and gravelly. “But first, let me show you where you'll be sleeping.”
I lead her up the staircase, my hand never leaving her.
Finally, we reach the primary suite. I push open the double doors, revealing a room larger than most people's entire homes. The California king bed dominates the space, draped in luxurious Egyptian cotton sheets and a down comforter.
“Holy fuck,” Francesca breathes, her eyes wide as saucers. “This bed is bigger than my entire bedroom.”
I smirk, pulling her against me. “Plenty of room for all the things I plan to do to you, also.”
She shivers, and I feel her pulse quicken under my touch. But there's more to show her.
“Come,” I murmur, guiding her toward another set of doors within the bedroom. I push them open, revealing a wardrobe that's practically the size of her entire apartment.
Francesca's jaw drops. “Holy shit,” she whispers, her eyes wide as she takes in the expanse before her.
I can't help but smile at her reaction. “This is where you'll find everything you need,” I explain, leading her inside. The space is immaculate, all dark wood and soft lighting. On one side, rows upon rows of designer clothes hang neatly. Suits, dress shirts, and casual wear, all in my size. But it's the other side that draws her attention.
“Are those...” she trails off, reaching out to touch a silky blouse.
“Everything from the boutique,” I confirm, “along with a few other pieces I thought you might like.” I watch as she moves from hanger to hanger, her fingers trailing over luxurious fabrics—cashmere sweaters, tailored blazers, and dresses that will hug every delicious curve of her body.
In the center of the room stands a large island, its surface gleaming under the soft lights. “Go ahead,” I encourage, nodding toward the drawers. “Open them.”
She does, revealing an array of accessories. My collection of designer watches, cufflinks, and an impressive selection of ties. In another drawer, she finds delicate lingerie sets, all in her size. Her cheeks flush as she fingers a scrap of black lace.
“You've thought of everything,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.
