The Promise (The 'Burg Series)

by Kristen Ashley

  “Thanks,” I whispered.

  Ben grasped a hip, rolling me to my side, and he pulled the covers over me. Only then did he exit the bed.

  I watched him from the back adjusting his jeans on the way to the bathroom. More aptly, I watched the muscles of his back move as he made his way to the bathroom.

  Mere minutes later, I watched him, wearing nothing but white boxers, sauntering back to the bed.

  The light went out before he slid in beside me. The instant he was in, he pulled me in his arms.

  I closed my eyes and did it hard.

  I’d missed this. I’d spent months, every night, every single one, wondering what the hell was the matter with me that I ran away from it. Wanting it back. Wanting it forever.

  Now, having really had all of Benny, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to give it up.

  Even if I made it so that Benny wanted to give up on me.

  “I’m scared as shit,” I said into his throat, pressing my face there.

  “Know that, Frankie.”

  “I don’t know how to get over it.”

  “Know that too.”

  “I don’t wanna fuck you over again.”

  “So don’t.”

  “It’s not that easy,” I whispered.

  His hands moved over my back, and he dipped his chin so when he said, “I know that too, honey,” it was in my hair. “I also know we are not gonna beat whatever is fuckin’ you up tonight. Wrestled with whether or not to come here for hours, couldn’t beat back the urge, and now I’m glad I didn’t. But it’s three o’clock in the morning. You got work tomorrow. So now, you sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll set about figuring out how to beat it.”

  I took in a rough breath and let it out, saying, “Okay, Benny.”

  “Now go to sleep.”

  “Okay, honey.”

  I snuggled closer, pressing my hands to his chest and turning my head to press my cheek against his collarbone.

  His arms around me got tight.

  I closed my eyes, and apparently the miracle of Benny (not to mention two orgasms) was enough to quiet all the shit in my head clamoring to be heard that I was scared to face. My body relaxed and I started to drift to sleep.

  I stopped when Ben’s arms gave me a squeeze and he murmured, “Fuckin’ thrilled you healed the breach, baby.”

  So Benny to give me that, straight-up honest.

  “I hope you stay that way,” I murmured back.

  “Eyes on the prize, Frankie,” he whispered.

  The prize.

  Having Benny.

  The best prize there was.

  “Right, Ben,” I whispered back. “Eyes on the prize.”

  He shifted me closer, tangled a heavy leg in mine, and slid a hand up to play with the ends of my hair.

  I settled in, took a deep breath, let his fingers moving in my hair relax me, and it didn’t take long before I found sleep.

  * * * * *

  The alarm on my phone sounded, and directly after, Ben sounded.

  “Fuck,” he groaned, rolling and taking me with him. I felt him reach and he must have grabbed my phone and touched a thumb to it to turn off the alarm because it stopped.

  I was blinking but saw the light of my phone and knew Benny must have been looking at it too when he muttered, “Christ, is it six already?”

  With probably four hours of sleep, my first thoughts should have been about how I was going to get through an important day of meetings and communing with one of my reps, who’d made it clear the day before he wasn’t all that hot about working under me.

  But those were not my thoughts.

  My thoughts were how good it felt to wake up to Benny in nothing but boxers, me with no panties, after two orgasms, and making the whacked decision to come back to him.

  I came back into the room mentally when I heard the phone clatter back on the nightstand, then I was on my back, Ben mostly on me because he rolled us into that position.

  “You gotta get up?” he asked.

  “It takes me an hour and a half to get ready and I have an eight o’clock breakfast meeting with my rep,” I answered.

  “So that’s a yeah.”

  “That’s a yeah,” I confirmed, sounding as disappointed as I felt.

  I felt a whole lot less disappointed when Ben shifted to bury his face in my neck, where he said, “Right, you get ready. I’m gonna snooze.”

  I rounded him with my arms and offered, “You can snooze all you want. I’ll do the checkout thing, arrange a wakeup call so you have plenty of time to get up and on your way, and I’ll put out the ‘do not disturb’ sign so they don’t bother you in the meantime.”

  He pulled his face out of my neck to look into my eyes through the dark and say, “That’s a plan.”

  I grinned at him, also through the dark.

  Then I said, “I gotta hit it, honey.”

  I reached up to touch my mouth to his but left it at that because I knew I wouldn’t be getting up at all if I went for more. But as I began to pull from his arms, they tightened around me.

  I looked back toward his face.

  “Gotta say this,” he muttered, and I felt my stomach tighten because he didn’t sound like he wanted to say whatever it was he had to say. “I laid it out last night,” he went on. “But need to make it clear, will only make it clear this once, ’cause by tonight, I’ll know and it’ll be done.”

  My stomach didn’t loosen as I asked, “What’ll be done?”

  He gathered me closer when he answered, “You burned me once, baby. I didn’t like it. Not at all. If it wasn’t you doin’ it, there would be no second chance. Since it’s you, I’m givin’ you a second chance. You don’t show tonight, it’ll be done. And we’re talking done, cara. I will not answer the phone. I will not come callin’ when you’re in town for business. You come to Man’s wedding, you won’t exist for me. That kind of done. You don’t show at my place tonight, you commit to that future ’cause there’s no goin’ back.”

  I was deep breathing in order to hold back the panic and, focused on that, I didn’t respond.

  So Benny prompted, “You understand that, baby?”

  “I understand,” I forced out.

  “All right,” he murmured, sliding a hand up into my hair, cupping the back of head, and pulling me to him.

  His kiss was not a lip touch. It was harder, closed mouthed, and a whole lot nicer.

  But he was Benny and all the awesomeness that entailed. He knew I had responsibilities.

  So he broke the kiss but touched his lips to mine once more before he whispered, “Now haul your ass outta this bed. I got sleep to catch up on.”

  “Okay, Ben.”

  He gave me a squeeze. I gave him one back, then I hauled my ass out of the bed.

  Since starting my job, I’d been traveling a lot, seeing as my territory was half the continental United States, so I had a system. When I got to my hotel room, I always unpacked. Made myself at home. Made sure everything was where I needed it to be when I might need it because I was working with reps and doctors, and schedules could get fucked. I didn’t want to be digging through my suitcase to find my three-tiered jewelry bag in order to locate the right earrings when I should be out the door to make a meeting.

  This had the added benefit of enabling me to get ready relatively quietly (nothing I could do about the hair dryer), behind closed doors in the bathroom, only coming out to sort through the closet in the light of dawn to pick one of my business outfits and shoes.

  When I did, I saw Ben on his side in the bed, one hand shoved under the pillow, one arm thrown wide, covers down to his lat, hair a mess, locks having fallen over his forehead.

  I did not think in the shower. I did not process what I’d done or what I was doing. I didn’t begin the Herculean task of trying to understand my panic or what I did to Ben five months ago.

  I got ready.

  But staring at him in the bed, my mind jumbled, turning, twisting, so much rushing through it at once
it was like when you picked up a book and put your thumb tight to the edge of the pages and let loose, the entire book flying across your vision in seconds. But through that, you had to find one line. You had to.

  Your life depended on it.

  I got to the end of the book, turned to the closet, and grabbed my dress and shoes. I took them to the bathroom, put them on, accessorized, re-sprayed my hair, and spritzed with perfume.

  Done with that, as quietly as I could, I packed up the bathroom. Going out to grab my suitcase, I carried it in the bathroom and went back out to grab my clothes. I took those in. I packed. And not using the rollers because it would be noisy, I carried it back out and set it by the door.

  I walked to the bed, again taking in all that was Benny Bianchi lying in it, and nabbed my phone. I walked back to the closet to get my blazer. I grabbed it, shrugged it on, pulled my hair out of the collar, then got my light trench from where I’d thrown it on a chair, my purse, the keycard, and my computer bag. I walked to the door, put out the “do not disturb” sign, and walked down the hall toward the elevators in order to go to the registration desk to check out.

  In other words, when that book flipped in front of me, I’d found my line.

  * * * * *

  I went to Ben’s name on my phone and hit the button to connect.

  I put the phone to my ear and waited. It rang several times, and I knew it did this because Ben’s jeans were in the bathroom. It also went to voicemail.

  Too far away to hear.

  I should have thought to put his phone on the nightstand.

  I didn’t think of that so I disconnected, searched for the hotel on Safari, found it, and connected.

  “The Belvedere, how can we help you today?”

  “Can you ring me up to room four thirteen?”

  “Of course. One moment.”

  I heard nothing. Then I heard clicks. Finally I heard rings.

  “’Lo?” Ben’s drowsy voice said.

  “It’s your friendly wake-up call,” I stated chirpily. “Time to get your ass out of bed and out of that room or I’ll have to pay for an extra day.”

  “Baby.” Now his voice was drowsy and amused.

  I liked the drowsy and amused so I went for more.

  “Of course, I wouldn’t be paying for it, my company would, but momma don’t play that way with her employers.”

  I only had amused—rumbling deep amused—when he asked, “Momma don’t play that way?”

  “Yep,” I answered.

  “Baby, there are a lotta things you are, but street is not one of them.”

  “I can totally do street.”

  “You could, if your dad was not Italian but African American. That not bein’ the case, you cannot.”

  “Are we gonna squabble about whether I can do street or not?” I asked.

  “No, seein’ as I gotta get my ass outta this bed before your company has to pay the extra day you won’t be usin’ this room so we don’t have time since that’ll take a year.”

  “Right then, to finish that particular discussion, I can so do street.”

  “Whatever,” he muttered, but it still rumbled with amusement.

  “Okay, I gotta get to a meeting.”

  “Cara.”

  At his sudden change in tone, I stopped dead, standing in the hallway of a medical office building.

  “What?” I whispered.

  “Bag packed, by the door.”

  My heart tripped, but my mouth spewed attitude. “Well, I’m not trustin’ you to pack for me. You’d totally fuck it up.”

  “There is no way to fuck up packing, Frankie. You toss the shit in, close the case. It zips, you’ve succeeded.”

  “Ben, just the idea of tossing my stuff in a suitcase without folding or strategizing placement gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “Then it’s good you packed.”

  “I know.”

  “No, Francesca.” His voice was deep and not easy, but low and heavy with meaning. “It’s good you packed.”

  My voice was not easy, but quiet and also heavy with meaning when I replied, “I know.”

  He was silent a second, maybe letting that sink in, before he asked, “You got a guesstimate when you’re gonna be at my place?”

  “With the way my day is planned, maybe I should come to the restaurant, get the keys, go to your place, and see you when you’re off.”

  This I had thought about in the last several hours since leaving Benny. These were not good thoughts, primarily because everyone likely knew I’d bailed on him, and although his family seemed to be playing Switzerland with that, others might not. And when it came to the pizzeria, those others could be there.

  They were also not good thoughts because Benny worked late and I wanted to see him, but I also needed sleep.

  Maybe I’d nap while he was at the restaurant.

  “Uh…honey, you came back to me. I’m not workin’ tonight,” Benny said, cutting into my thoughts.

  “You’re callin’ in Vinnie Senior?” I asked, not certain how I felt about that either because it would mean there would be little delay in the Bianchis knowing I was back.

  “No. Manny can cover the kitchen for a day or two. He does it sometimes when I got a day off and he doesn’t fuck up my kitchen when he does it. Long haul, though, Man doesn’t have it in him. It’s gotta be Pop.”

  I found that interesting.

  I didn’t have the time to find out why that was interesting.

  I only had the time to say, “All right.”

  “I’ll give Man a call, get to the restaurant, make sure everything’s sorted for him. So, again, when am I gonna see you?”

  “Around six.”

  “Right. Then see you around six.”

  Suddenly, I felt extremely happy and couldn’t keep it out of the “Yeah” I gave to him.

  “Yeah.” He gave it back to me.

  I drew in a steadying breath.

  “Later, Benny.”

  “Later, Frankie.”

  I disconnected and looked down the hall to where Trey, my rep, was standing, head bent to his phone, thumb moving over it, expression set to annoyed.

  And I thought, Fuck him. I was good at my job, even if the learning curve meant that for four months, my downtime was spent with my nose in patient information leaflets, company brochures, past sales reports, and team evaluations.

  He was going to have to suck it up.

  I was there to stay.

  Or, at least for the next minute.

  The one after that, we’d see.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kid Friendly

  I had butterflies at the same time I was experiencing pleasantly unpleasant (or unpleasantly pleasant) flashbacks as I parked in front of Benny’s house.

  I sucked in a breath, grabbed my purse and computer, and exited my rental car.

  When I did, as if she had a sixth sense, I saw Mrs. Zambino standing out on her stoop, high-heeled boots on, hair up, arms crossed on her chest that was covered in a sweater I was pretty certain I saw a celebrity wearing in last week’s issue of Us magazine.

  She wore it better.

  She was staring at me, a severe look on her face.

  Well, there you go. Benny’s family was Switzerland, but Mrs. Zambino was pissed at me.

  I ignored that, juggled my bags, waved enthusiastically, and called, “Hey there, Mrs. Zambino!”

  Her body jerked in a peeved way, then she turned and stomped into her house.

  I made a mental note I had work to do with Mrs. Zambino and turned toward Benny’s.

  I was at the top of the stoop when the door opened.

  Then I wasn’t at the top of the stoop, seeing as Benny’s arm flashed out, hooked me around the waist, and yanked me inside.

  The door slammed shut about a second before I slammed against the wall of Ben’s foyer, pinned there by Benny.

  “Couch or bed?” he asked, his eyes an inch from mine, and a throb pulsed between my legs.r />
  “Wh-what?” I asked back, following, but not able to process what was happening quickly enough to make an appropriate response.

  “Bed,” he rumbled, his eyes dropping to my mouth. “Room to move. We’ll break in the couch when I’m focused.”

  When he was focused?

  What did that mean?

  I had no chance to ask. My purse and computer bag were on the floor, my hand was in Benny’s, and he was dragging me toward the stairs.

  When we hit the stairs, I still had no chance to talk, since I had to concentrate on where my feet were taking me so I didn’t slam face-first into a stair.

  After that, I had to concentrate on not tripping down the hall.

  Then I had to concentrate on staying upright when Ben whirled me to face him, my back to the foot of the bed, and he pulled my trench with blazer down my arms and tossed them aside.

  Only then did I slam my hands on my hips as I glared into his eyes and snapped, “Well, hello, Benny Bianchi.”

  His reply was to plant his hand on my chest and shove.

  I let out a small scream and hit the bed on my back.

  Benny hit me.

  Then his mouth hit mine.

  And then he was kissing me.

  It finally filtered through my brain that this was hot, all of it. He was kissing me and I liked the way he tasted. So I wound my arms around him and kissed him back.

  If I had time to think about it that day (which I didn’t), I would have thought the first time was about uncontrolled emotion, need, and the fact I hadn’t been laid in over seven years. I was getting laid by Benny Bianchi, all of this explaining why it went so fast, burned so bright, and felt so good.

  But luckily, I didn’t have time to think about it. Because if I did, I would have started fretting about when it would go slower and I’d have plenty of time to sink right into my head like I had with Vinnie. Wondering if I was doing something right. Wondering if he liked something I was doing, if I was exciting him, or if he was just hard, ready, and going through the motions so he could get inside me and finish things.

  If I’d had time to think about it, it would have embedded itself in my head so it would be all about if I was doing it right, out of practice, or never really had the skill in the first place, and if Benny liked what I was doing.