Bentley: Vested Interest #1

by Melanie Moreland

  “Got it.”

  “Plug your memory key in there and use it. I think you’ll find it has everything you need to do your work. The password is Scone1, capital S.”

  Aside from the typing of the keys, there was silence for a moment, until she spoke. “Why does this laptop have all the software I use on it?”

  “I use it, as well.”

  “Yet, this one looks brand new. There are no files saved on it, no work done.” I heard a few more keystrokes. “It is brand new. Winston Bentley Ridge, tell me you did not buy this laptop for me.”

  I gaped into the phone, and adjusted myself. Was it incredibly wrong I found her full naming me a turn on?

  “It is new, because I only got it yesterday. I haven’t had a chance to bring it into the office to have it set up. I thought you could use it today—or whenever you’re at my place, to save you from carrying yours back and forth. It, ah, looked heavy.”

  Her sigh told me she knew I was lying.

  “It’s only a laptop, Freddy. One of many I have. Use it today and stay.” I waited, then went in for the kill. “Please.”

  “I’m not keeping this computer, Rigid.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I’ll only borrow it today.”

  “Or whenever you need to.”

  “It is very light.”

  “It’s fast, too. Super-fast. It will help you get your work done easier.”

  “Are you actually going to come home early?”

  “If you’re there, yes.”

  “Can I make us dinner?”

  “I would love that.”

  “Then, it’s a deal. See you later, dear. Go make some more millions.”

  I hung up, smiling. Strangely enough, that was how I seemed to act when it came to Emmy. I glanced back at the door to the boardroom, knowing what was waiting. Aiden would pounce as soon as I went in, and Maddox would lean back with a knowing smirk on his face, and they would tease me mercilessly. Aiden knew Emmy had spent the night. He hadn’t said anything, aside from one raised eyebrow this morning when I got in the car, but he knew. And if he knew, so did Maddox. The two of them were like old women gossips, sharing information over the fence.

  I straightened my jacket, tugged on my sleeves, and prepared my game face.

  It wouldn’t last long, and astonishingly, I didn’t care.

  **

  I found her in the kitchen, the laptop open, her hand a blur holding the mouse pad as she created something on the screen. Music played from the speakers, the beat a low hum. The kitchen was warm, the air was pungent with garlic and spice, and whatever she was cooking contained a heady red wine. It was mouthwatering.

  She was concentrating so hard, she didn’t hear me come in, and I took the time to study her. My shirt hung past her thighs revealing, her shapely calves and small feet, encased in a pair of my socks. Both shawls were draped around her body for warmth, although one side had slipped, pulling down the material, showing her skin. She had her hair piled loosely on her head, exposing her delicate neck. Curls escaped from her messy updo, hanging around her face. She pushed them aside as she muttered to herself, her hand sweeping across the tablet, and colors appearing on the screen. The light glinted off her ear piercings, and her musical tattoo was a dark image on her pale skin behind her ear. My shirt hung loose off one shoulder exposing her butterfly tattoo I had discovered last night. I remembered tracing it with my tongue, making her shiver. She had told me it was a tribute to her grandmother.

  “She loved butterflies,” she whispered.

  I slid behind her, wrapped my fingers around her shoulder, and dropped my face to her neck, to kiss the soft skin. At the same time I placed the flowers I’d picked up across the laptop. She startled briefly, but melted back into me. I held her tight, then she turned, throwing her arms around my neck, and pressed her mouth to mine.

  I needed no further encouragement, kissing her thoroughly. It was even better than I remembered; the softness of her lips, the feel of her tongue and the taste that was just her. She grasped my shoulders, and I slipped my hands under her shirt, feeling the delicate ridges of her spine as I ran them over her skin.

  I eased back, holding her to my chest.

  “Welcome home.”

  “Best welcome I’ve ever had. Usually, by the time I get home, there is a plate ready for dinner on the counter and an empty house.”

  She gazed up at me, her dark eyes sad. “I don’t like that.”

  I stroked the skin of her cheek.

  “It’s fine.”

  “I guess I’ll have to change it.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  She nodded, turning her face so she could kiss my hand. “Yeah.” Then, trying to lighten the mood, she grinned. “Your computer is awesome.”

  “Ah, always second to the computer.”

  “Sorry, Rigid. The hard drive is pretty impressive.”

  My already aching cock swelled. Her voice, her teasing, the way her eyes expressed the emotions she felt. They all turned me on. I had been hard for her since I left that morning.

  I turned her to the laptop. “Save your work, Emmy.”

  “Oh?”

  I leaned down and nipped her neck. “I’ll show you an impressive hard drive.”

  She tapped a few keys. “Done.”

  I swept her into my arms. “Good.”

  Chapter 10

  Bentley

  We barely made it out of the elevator. By accident, my groping fingers hit the top floor, and I went with it, carrying her to the sunroom and laying her on the deep sofa. I had pulled the clip from her hair at some point, and the waves cascaded over the cushion, almost reaching the floor. The sun glinted in the strands casting a burnished gold around her head.

  I crouched over her, my erection pressing into the zipper of my dress pants, painful and needy. “As much as I like my shirt on you, it needs to come off.”

  She shimmied, the shirt and shawls disappearing. Her skin was pale, the only color showing was the small peek of the butterfly wing over her shoulder, and the tiny set of teardrops tattooed over her heart. Four splatters of red, each symbolizing a person she lost, she had explained when I asked her. They told me, without words, of the sorrow she carried. She etched her heartache onto her skin, embedding the pain there forever. She kept all her tattoos private. Even her musical tattoo was hidden most of the time. That one, she informed me, was for her. She loved music, and constantly had it playing everywhere.

  Bending low, I kissed the ink, then slid my mouth down, covering her nipple, and sucked, teasing the peak with my tongue. She gasped, arching up, and used her hands to push off my suit jacket. Our mouths met in a series of blistering, intense kisses. Hot, wet, mind-blowing caresses. I needed more of them. More of her. Everything she could give me.

  Her hands yanked and tugged on my tie, fumbled with my buttons, and tugged on my belt. Unable to break from her mouth, I helped her, until we were at last naked and pressed together, our bodies melded. Cradled in between her legs, she was slick and ready. She lifted her hips, as the blunt head of my cock rubbed against her. The searing heat of her, made me groan—I wanted her so fucking much.

  “Condom,” I gasped.

  “Where?”

  I wanted to scream in frustration. “My room.”

  “Why aren’t you a typical bachelor that hides condoms all over his house in case?”

  “In case?”

  “In case of situations like this!”

  Her words made me stop. They broke the intensity of the moment, and made me grin. “I’m not your typical bachelor, Freddy. I’ve never encountered a ‘situation like this’ before now.”

  “Never?”

  “No. You’re the first woman who has stayed here.”

  She leaned up, kissing me hard. “I like that. I hope you’re fast then.”

  “I was first in the hundred-yard sprint in high school.”

  “I want to see a repeat. I need you inside me.”

  I was
certain I broke the record. I was back and on her in thirty seconds flat. I held up the condoms.

  “Six?” she asked, lifting that sexy eyebrow of hers.

  “In case,” I replied, covering her mouth, getting us right back to the moment.

  Seconds later, my sheathed cock was inside her. She cried out my name, her fingers yanked on my hair, and her legs wrapped tighter around my waist. I gripped the cushions beside her head, needing to kiss her, craving the constant connection. Her sweetness wrecked me. The sounds she made and the way she tugged me close as she moved with me was addicting. Her hands slipped over my ass, gripping and kneading the muscles that bunched under her touch.

  “Oh God. . .”

  “Yes. Come for me, Emmy. Let go, baby.”

  I buried my face in her neck, letting the intensity overtake me. My cock swelled as she came, fluttering and tight around me. Pleasure tore through me, my balls tightening, and I pushed her legs apart, slipping in deeper and coming hard. I cursed and shook with my orgasm. She gripped my hair, and our mouths joined, deep and desperate at first, then slowly becoming gentler. Sweeter. Light.

  I rolled, taking her with me, and pinning her between the back of the sofa and my chest.

  She sighed, laying her head on my shoulder. Silence surrounded us, the room light with the afternoon sun, the woman I was holding, sated and content. I was the same.

  It was on odd feeling, and yet, I liked it.

  **

  Emmy looked relaxed as she drifted in the water. After we rolled from the sofa, I had convinced her a swim would feel good.

  A naked one.

  She didn’t bat an eye, dropping my shirt and racing to the pool. I had turned up the water heater the previous night, so I knew it was warm. Add in the sun shining through the glass, the room was comfortable for her and she was enjoying herself as she relaxed.

  I was enjoying the view. I pulled the floating lounge closer and kissed her tempting mouth.

  “Cami wants to have coffee before class tomorrow,” she said, running her fingers through my damp hair. “No doubt she will pump me for information.” She looked shy suddenly. “She was rather surprised to find out I was still here today when she texted me.”

  “Oh?”

  “I don’t usually move this fast in a relationship.”

  That information pleased me; once again making me feel like a caveman.

  What was it about this girl that brought that out in me?

  “If it makes you feel better, neither do I. I think, perhaps, it has something to do with the person.”

  Her eyes widened, and she smiled. “You were so amazing last night.”

  “I thought we were amazing together.” I chuckled. “I think I should be insulted you sound so surprised.”

  “No! I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just . . . you’re so . . . um, uptight and formal, but you were so passionate, and giving. I just . . . oh God, I screwed that up. I’m sorry.”

  I tugged her from the chair, yanking her tight to my body. I loved how she felt against me. Small, soft, and supple.

  “You didn’t screw anything up. I am uptight, I am formal. It’s how I was raised. It’s how I conduct myself on a daily basis. How I have always conducted myself. Most women find me dull, yet when I’m with you, I feel . . .” I struggled to find the right word. “. . .lighter. Like I can be me. You’re the first person I have felt like that with in a very long time.”

  “Oh,” she breathed out. “Really?”

  “Really. I don’t rush into anything—business or personal—yet with you those rules have gone out the window.”

  She regarded me with those espresso-colored eyes. They were wide and sincere, and I loved how they looked at me. “Why?”

  I bent closer. “I think, maybe, it has everything to do with you and the person you are, Emmy.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Your words.” I swept my lips across her closed eyes. “Your beautiful heart.” Another caress of my mouth went across her lips. “Your smile.” I nuzzled her neck. “Your actions.” I dragged my mouth up to her ear. “Your reactions to me.”

  She whimpered, drawing my face to hers. “Only for you,” she murmured.

  “Good.”

  **

  A short while later, I grinned at her, replete and gratified.

  “That was the best Beef Bourguignon I have ever tasted. I can’t believe you made bread.”

  She popped a grape into her mouth, chewing slowly. The small bunch of flowers I brought her was in a vase I didn’t even know I owned, but she insisted was perfect. I had remembered her musing of loving grapes, and the small corner store where I got the flowers had them on display. I might have bought too many, judging from the large bowl of them between us.

  “Stew. It was just stew. Not beef whatever you called it.”

  “Still amazing. Like the bread.”

  “It’s a fast bread. It’s so dense it’s great with the stew.” She glanced around the room with an almost forlorn expression. “Your kitchen is so well-stocked.”

  “You can use it anytime you want.”

  “Do you cook?”

  “I can do the basics. And by that I mean toast, canned goods, and frozen pizza.”

  “And coddled eggs.”

  I winked. “Only on special occasions.”

  “What did you do when you all lived together?”

  I chuckled, thinking about those days. “I was in charge of the laundry. Aiden did the yardwork and Maddox cooked. The rest we sort of split up. And I paid Sandy to give the place a good clean once a month. We survived.”

  Her eyebrow rose. “You did laundry?”

  “I did it very well.”

  She picked up her glass and took a sip. “I can’t see it, frankly.”

  “It made the most sense to me. Sandy showed me how the machines worked, and I was very organized. Lights, dark, whites. Bleach, no bleach. I had a system.”

  “Everything in its place.”

  “Yes.”

  “You like it like that.”

  It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

  I filled my glass and topped hers up, draining the bottle of wine. “I like order.”

  “Does change bother you?”

  I furrowed my brow while mulling over her question. “It takes me time to adapt. Aiden goes with the flow, but Maddox is more like me, although he rarely shows it. There are times I admit, I have to have space to adjust.”

  “Is that because of the way your parents were while you were growing up?”

  I met her gaze, answering her quietly. “My parents died when I was five, Emmy. I was raised by my Uncle Randall and Aunt Jane.”

  She wrapped her hand around mine. “Oh, Bentley, I didn’t know.”

  “I know. I don’t talk about it much.” I paused. “Yet, I find I want to tell you. I think you need to know to understand me.”

  Lifting my hand to her mouth, she kissed the knuckles. “I’m listening.”

  “I don’t remember much about my parents. I remember the eggs my dad used to cook every Sunday for my mom. How they danced in the kitchen and my dad would pull me from my chair and spin us both around. Mom and I would laugh.” I sighed. “My mom always smelled like Lily of the Valley. Every time I smell them in the spring I think of her.”

  “Those are good memories.”

  “There are only a few others. I was so young. Mostly vague images and thoughts.”

  “Can I ask how they died?”

  I stiffened, trying not to react to the feelings that flooded my chest when I thought about the past.

  “My mom loved the theater. Musical theater in particular—she always had scores playing in the house and she sang along. They went to a lot of shows. One evening, they went out.” I stopped, taking a sip of wine for fortitude. “They were late and parked farther away than normal. They were mugged leaving the theater, and according to the story, something went awry.” I met her eyes th
at were brimming with emotion. “He had a gun, and they were killed.”

  She wrapped her hands around mine. “Bentley.”

  “I don’t remember much. I think, perhaps I blocked most of it. One day they were there, and suddenly, my life changed. Everything changed. I was taken from my home, everything that was familiar, my parents were gone, and I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle.”

  “Were your aunt and uncle . . . nice?” she asked hesitantly, knowing there was a reason I was telling her my history.

  “They were good people. I was fed, had the best education, a nice place to live. However, they were different from my parents—distant and cold. Their marriage was more for convenience than anything. They were very austere people. There was no affection between them”—I met her gaze—“or for me. Coming from a home where there was a lot of love, it was very unsettling, but eventually it became my life, as well.”

  Understanding dawned in her gaze.

  “My life was vastly different after my parents died. Very structured. Children were meant to be seen and not heard. I had my lessons, and later, school. My grades had to be perfect. The activities I was part of had to be done for a reason, not for fun. Manners were drummed into me. Responsibility above all else. Decorum and good breeding. How I dressed. Spoke. Thought. It was all exceedingly exacting. Sensible. Reserved. There was little room for emotion.”

  She frowned, not speaking.

  “My mother wore a string of small pearls. She wore them every day. My father had given them to her when they were married—they weren’t expensive, but they were sentimental. I remember how they felt when she would hug me. The cool feeling of the beads as they pressed to my cheek. If I sat on her lap, I always played with them. I liked how smooth they were.” I sighed and ran a hand over my face.

  “When they were robbed, there must have been a struggle. I don’t know if they fought back or what happened, but not long after their death, my aunt got a small box of their belongings. There wasn’t much since most of it was evidence, but somehow a few pearls were found in the pocket of my mother’s coat. I assume they tore the necklace from her neck and they scattered.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the four pearls I carried everywhere I went. “There was a small fleck of blood on one, and my aunt was disgusted they would have sent them back, and she threw them away.”