Page 34 of Tempting Frankie
And isn't that exactly what I've done to Alexander Steele, billionaire extraordinaire?
Fucking red is such a powerful color. The way it can change everything in one instance.
I slide my feet into a pair of sky-high Louboutins, the red soles a perfect match for my dress. My hair I leave wild and tousled. Alexander likes it when I look a little undone, like he's already had his way with me.
A swipe of deep red lipstick, a spritz of perfume, and I'm ready to raise hell.
Alexander does love it when I raise hell so he can spank the brat right out of me.
Chapter 13
Francesca
The sleek black car pulls up to the curb, and I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever Alexander has planned. The door opens, and I step out, my heels clicking against the pavement. The slit in my dress does its job, giving everyone an eyeful as I emerge.
And there he is.
Alexander stands tall and imposing, his broad shoulders filling out his bespoke suit in a way that makes my mouth water. He looks like sin incarnate. His hair is perfectly styled, and his green eyes lock on me with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine.
“Francesca,” he breathes, his voice a low rumble that I feel in my bones. Not once has he ever called me Frankie. The way he says my name has me falling in love with it. Like it’s decadent and I deserve to have it.
An insane thought, thinking someone doesn’t deserve the name they have.
He leans in, his lips brushing against my cheek in a kiss that's far too chaste for us. “You look ravishing.”
His hand finds the small of my back, dominating and warm through the thin fabric of my dress. I lean into his touch, craving more even as I remind myself to play it cool.
“You clean up nice yourself, Daddy Warbucks,” I quip, earning a low chuckle that makes my insides liquify.
Alexander guides me toward the entrance of Le Vernardin, because of course he'd choose one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. The maître d' practically trips over himself to greet us, all fawning smiles and “Mr. Steele, so wonderful to see you again. Your table is empty and waiting for you as usual, sir.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course he has a usual table. Probably comes with its own zip code and personal sommelier. Instead, I plaster on my sweetest smile, playing the role of arm candy to perfection. It's a dance I'm far too good at.
We're led to a secluded table in the back, tucked away from prying eyes. Not that it matters because half the room is already stealing glances our way. I can practically hear their whispers.
Who's that young thing with Alexander Steele?
Must be a secret daughter.
No, look at the way he's touching her—definitely not his daughter.
I toss my hair back, meeting their stares head-on. Let them look. Let them wonder. I'm here, in this dress with a man who could buy and sell this entire restaurant without blinking an eye.
Alexander pulls out my chair, ever the gentleman. As I sit, his fingers trail along my bare shoulder, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It's a reminder, a claim.
You're mine.
The waiter appears, nervous and shaking in his crispy white shirt. “Good evening, Mr. Steele. May I start you off with something to drink?”
Alexander doesn't even look at the wine list. “The Domaine de la Romanée-Conti La Tâche, 2015.”
I barely contain my snort. Of course, he'd casually order a bottle of wine that costs more than a car. The waiter's eyes widen slightly, but he recovers quickly. “An excellent choice, sir.”
Alexander waves the waiter away with a flick of his wrist, his eyes never leaving mine. The intensity of his gaze makes me squirm in my seat. I feel like a butterfly under a microscope, every flaw and imperfection laid bare. I reach for my water glass, desperate for something to do with my hands.
“Nervous, Francesca?” he purrs, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“You wish,” I shoot back, but my voice lacks its usual bite.
