Your Tempting Love (The Bennett Family)

by Layla Hagen

  On Friday afternoon, Isabelle keeps her promise and shows up with Helen at my house.

  “Girl, there’s only so long we can go without seeing each other before the best friend tag won’t fit anymore,” Helen exclaims, pulling me into a hug. Rich blonde hair cascades over her shoulders, framing her beautiful features.

  “Sorry, things have just been—”

  “I know,” she says as I lead her and Isabelle in the living room. “Isabelle says you have dirty news.”

  “Shh, the kids will hear you.” Chloe and Lucas are in the living room, bickering. Sienna’s out with her friends Emma and Ben.

  “Oh no, we have to censor our conversation?” Helen complains under her breath. I give her a strained smile, and Isabelle elbows her gently. Yeah, some friendships adapt to changes better than others. We spend the next two hours catching up with each other, and when the kids move to the backyard, I dish out details about Christopher. The girls are excited, trying to lure every dirty detail out of me, but our conversation comes to an abrupt halt when Chloe stomps back in, jumping into my arms and seeking reassurance from Lucas’s relentless teasing. Helen and Isabelle leave shortly afterward, abruptly ending our girls night. Yeah. . .I bet it will take a while before Helen will be up for one again. Kids aren’t her thing.

  Over the weekend, the kids and I decorate the house properly for fall with strings of dry leaves and whatnot. Aunt Christina, Uncle Bill, and their three children come over on Saturday, and we have a blast carving pumpkins, placing them on the porch, which now has a distinct Halloween feel, and baking apples with cinnamon. The entire house smells like heaven.

  When our guests prepare to leave, the usual bargaining begins. The cousins would like to sleep over, but the house is too tiny for five kids plus Sienna and me. Sleepovers always happen at Aunt Christina's house, and we agree to have one next Friday. That also happens to be Halloween night, and the kids will do some quality trick-or-treating together at Christina's. With a jolt, I remember that's the day Christopher returns from Seattle. Sienna usually skips sleepovers because she's older than everyone else, but now she winks at me wickedly and casually adds that she'd like to pop over for the sleepover as well.

  On Sunday afternoon, Sienna’s friend Ben comes by at the house because the two of them have to work on a science project.

  “Hi, Ben!”

  He waves, nodding before he and Sienna head up the stairs to her room. I’ve always liked Ben, and having known him for years, it’s hard to forget he’s a teenager. I trust them both, and Sienna always insists they’re just friends, but it won’t hurt to remind them about the golden rule.

  “If you’re going to work upstairs—” I begin, but they interrupt me.

  “We’ll keep the door open,” Sienna and Ben say at the same time. I bet they’re rolling their eyes in unison too, but better safe than sorry.

  While they work, I check Lucas’s math homework. Hunched over his desk, I run the numbers in my mind, double-checking them. I'm about to congratulate him on getting everything right, when I feel something crawling at the back of my neck. My hair is swept to one side, so my neck is bared to the nasty creature. Freezing in my seat, I splay my fingers on Lucas's notebook, attempting to draw in a lungful of breath to calm myself down. It can only be an insect. I hope it’s an insect. If there are rodents in this house, I'm moving us out. Immediately. Clenching my teeth, I slap my palm so hard against the back of my neck that I nearly buckle.

  A shriek followed by a snort of laughter startles me. Jumping out of the seat, I do a one-eighty twirl, only to find Lucas holding his belly with his left hand. With his other hand, he holds a rope, which has a rubber spider at the other end.

  "I scared you again," Lucas says between shrieks of laughter while I'm massaging the spot I slapped. Snapping out of my post-fake-spider terror, recognition sets in. My limbs instantly become as light as air. Lucas just pulled a prank on me. Stepping forward, I hug the hell out of my little brother, squishing him against me, ruffling his hair and kissing the top of his head.

  "This is weird. Why aren't you yelling? Victoria, please stop hugging me."

  "There's no one here to see, and this is the least you can do to make up for scaring me."

  A few seconds later, he wiggles out of my embrace, clutching the damned spider to his chest. That's when I notice the huge box behind him. Lucas's Halloween Box.

  "When did you bring this up? I didn't hear you."

  "While you were checking my homework, I went to the basement all by myself," he exclaims proudly. "Every man worth his salt must prank the women in his house, especially during the month of Halloween."

  Something in his posture and the stiffness in his words alerts me that these aren't his words. I have a hunch I know who they belong to, and my heart grows in size.

  After informing him that his math homework was correct, I take refuge in my room, dialing Christopher's number. He doesn't pick up, and after a few rings, I give up. I debate sending him a message, but he said he’ll be working over the weekend, and if he’s still at the office, I don’t want to disturb him.

  ***

  Christopher

  It's almost midnight when I leave the company building, heading straight for the cab the doorman called for me. My neck is stiff, and no amount of flexing it will release the tension. When I first joined Bennett Enterprises, I used to make fun of my brothers for practically never leaving the office. I insisted that the human body wasn't built for sitting in a chair all day, with bathroom trips and pacing around the office making up the sole physical activity. I should heed my own advice more often these days. But the truth is, as I learned over the years, some things can't be helped. When there's work to be done, there's work to be done. I can't just pretend it doesn't exist. What I didn't know then was that work doesn't just equal money. It equals people too.

  For example, when we bought the packaging company here in Seattle, the previous owner had nearly brought it to bankruptcy with some bad decisions. During the initial assessment, it became clear that if we didn't fire half the employees, we'd incur huge losses for the first year. Most of them had worked at the company all their lives. What were they supposed to do, find a new job at one of the other non-packaging companies in the area? Train for a new career when they were nearing their sixties? The thought of practically putting people out on the street kept me up at night. I chose not to fire anyone. Bennett Enterprises could absorb that loss for a while, and my family agreed with me. It's just one of the benefits of keeping the shares in the family. The bank, on the other hand, wasn’t a fan of the plan.

  “Mr. Bennett, I’ll be frank. This is not a smart business move,” Regis Johnson, our bank advisor, said.

  “No, but it’s the right human move to make,” I replied calmly. I’d called him into my office to relay the news, knowing that being on our premises would give me the upper hand.

  “Bennett Enterprises is not a charity.”

  I rose from my seat and placed my knuckles on the desk, leaning slightly over it. I could practically see Regis cowering. I don’t often resort to intimidation, but when I do, it’s for a good cause.

  “We can change banks at any time, Regis. Your competitors are banging on our doors, begging us to work with them.”

  That was the end of the conversation, but the decision not to fire anyone also meant that I, and the entire operations department, had to put in double the work to turn the newly acquired packaging division around. Hence this trip to Seattle and the late nights.

  Bone-tired as I am, I'm happy we've been making progress. So why do I have an unpleasant feeling in my gut? I can't place it, and it bothers me.

  Five short minutes later, I place that feeling when I step inside the hotel. That's it. I don't hate the work, just coming "home" to an impersonal hotel room and a cold bed.

  "Evening, Mr. Bennett," the receptionist greets me, smiling a little too brightly, leaning over the reception desk to display her cleavage. She's been hitting on
me since I arrived, making it plenty clear she'd love to warm my bed. I just nod, considering some rude one-liners to make it clear I'm not interested since she's not a hint taker. In the end, I decide against it because I'm far too tired to come up with anything smart.

  "I have a package for you," she says. At first I think she means it as an innuendo, but then she places an actual package on the reception desk. “It arrived yesterday, but the other shift manager forgot about it.”

  "Thanks."

  Surprised, I pick it up, inspecting it on the way to the elevator. There are no details on the sender, which makes me think my family's up to something. I wait until I'm inside my room to open it.

  "What the…?"

  I find a red, midsized blanket inside and a note.

  Red warms up the surrounding colors, even gray. Try putting it on the couch in your room.

  Victoria

  Heading straight to the couch, I crumple the blanket and toss it in one corner. It looks as if someone recently sat there. I imagine it was Victoria, curled up with a book, drinking eggnog. She’s right; the room instantly looks less like a cave. It looks warmer. The corners of my mouth lift up, and I have the sudden urge to hear her voice. She called earlier, but I was in a meeting. I almost call her but then I remember the time, so I settle for sending her a text message instead.

  Christopher: Thanks for the blanket. You're right. It does warm the room up.

  I type a few more things, then delete them. I wasn't expecting her to do this, mostly because I've come to expect nothing from the women I date. I'm used to being the one with the surprise gifts. The dating I've done over the past years never ran deeper than physical attraction and having a good time together, but I still wanted my partners to be happy. Happiness usually translated to presents, not of a romantic nature because I'd left those behind until recently. The gifts were of the truckload-of-money nature. The more expensive, the brighter their smile. When things eventually ended, they missed the gifts more than they missed me. The sound of my ringtone jolts me to the here and now. Victoria is calling.

  Putting the phone to my ear, I say, "I thought you'd be sleeping."

  "Nah, I've been reading. I couldn't fall asleep."

  "Admit it. You were waiting for me to call back. Sorry for not answering. I was in a meeting."

  "I will admit to nothing. All you will get is a maybe."

  That's more than enough for me. "Thanks for the blanket again."

  "It's not much of a redo, but hopefully it'll make your room more welcoming."

  "You know what I'd really like to have in my room?"

  "What?"

  "You. I'd never leave this room again."

  "That would be very bad for your Seattle business," she says.

  "True, but it would be very good for both of us."

  I realize at this moment how much I miss her. Her and the kiss police. Chloe and Lucas arguing about which tone of gray in this room is shittier, with Sienna telling them “shitty” is a bad word would definitely liven things up.

  "How was your weekend?" I ask.

  "Well, something happened, and I called you earlier to ask if you talked to Lucas recently."

  "During lunch yesterday. Why?"

  "Because he just scared the wits out of me. Pranking Lucas is back in business. He brought up his Halloween box and everything."

  "I’m so proud of that kid."

  "What did you tell him?"

  Lucas called me yesterday at lunch, eager to talk about the big soccer game from Friday night. He was very disappointed I hadn't watched it. I can’t blame him though; when I was nine, if someone had told me they worked on Friday evening instead of watching a soccer game, I would’ve dropped them from my “cool people” list. I took advantage of the opportunity to prod him, sniffing for information.

  "I tested the waters, trying to understand why he stopped. Turns out, he thought being the man of the house meant being a grown-up, and grown-ups don't prank people. I used myself as an example to prove the opposite," I say.

  "You're a genius. I never get him to tell me these things."

  I stay silent for a while, mulling over a thought that occurred a while back. "I think it's easier for him to talk about these things with outsiders."

  "Christopher?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Thank you for talking to Lucas. This is the most romantic thing you could have done."

  "Happy I helped. In all honesty, I was dying to have someone to pass on the pranking skills to. My nieces are sadly still too young. Anyway, I always said a prank is the best way to lighten up any day."

  She snorts. "Please explain."

  "What did Lucas do?"

  "He put a spider on my neck."

  "Still hasn't moved past the spider phase? I have to teach that kid better pranks."

  "Should I be afraid?"

  "Terrified. Anyway, before you realized the spider was just rubber, I bet you almost had a panic attack, thinking over all the worst-case scenarios."

  "Yeah."

  "So after learning it was a prank, you realized all your real problems are nothing compared to the scenarios. See, your day is better."

  "You have a unique view of the world," she informs me as politely as possible. I never understood why people didn't get my point of view on this. It makes perfect sense.

  "If I had a nickel every time I heard that from my family. They were more direct though. I believed they use the word ‘crazy,’ and sometimes ‘twisted.’"

  "I can’t imagine why. I'm sure I'll have some nightmares tonight. That'll be a change in dreams."

  Something in the way she says “dreams,” as if it's a dirty secret, shoots adrenaline through my veins. I rise from the couch, stretching my legs before heading toward the bed, shrugging off the jacket of my suit and kicking off my shoes on the way.

  "Did you have dirty dreams?"

  She gasps lightly, and I imagine her covering her mouth. "How do you know?"

  "You whispered the word."

  "Oh."

  "Are you alone?"

  "Yes. I'm in my room."

  "Tell me your dreams."

  "Um… well, we were in a room, and you were doing wicked things to me."

  I cling to her words like a desperate man, her silence feeling like a punishment.

  "With my fingers? My mouth? My cock?"

  Lying on my back on the cold bed, I imagine her blushing, getting turned on.

  "All of them," she whispers. "And you were really good."

  I close my eyes, imagining I'm next to her right this minute, only inches away from her soft skin. The things I'd do to her if she were within my reach. Wicked wouldn't even come close to describing it.

  "I want to kiss you right now," I say. "I’d start with your mouth, continue with your neck. You have that sweet spot, right above the collarbone. I want to lick you there."

  "Christopher!"

  Her voice is a little hushed, a lot aroused. Energy strums through me, and my pants tighten uncomfortably.

  "Touch yourself, Victoria. I want to hear you. I need this."

  "I need it too. I… oh!"

  A white-hot current jolts through me. In a flash of a second, I undo my belt, push my shirt up, and lower my hand into my pants.

  "Are you wet?" I ask, gripping my erection tightly. I imagine touching her breasts, worshiping them the way they deserve.

  "Yes," she pants, letting out small delicious moans. I increase the pressure with my hand, imagining it's her mouth. Just visualizing those pink, plump lips around my crown, I almost blow.

  "Imagine my tongue where your fingers are."

  Her sharp exhale travels straight to my groin. I increase the rhythm of my strokes, listening to her moans growing more desperate. In my mind, I worship every inch of her body, learning what she loves and what makes her come apart. But I'm too far gone to be able to coherently tease her. When I imagine sinking into her, I nearly explode. Warm and soft, she'd fit me to perfection.

&
nbsp; "Fuck, Victoria. I want you."

  Her response? A low primal groan that sends a white-hot flash from my base right to the crown. I inhale deeply, aware that every vein in my body is catching fire. Pacing myself, I loosen my grip a notch, wanting to wait so she finishes first.

  She comes apart beautifully, crying out my name. I almost black out as warm liquid shoots onto my stomach.

  "I…. This was…," she whispers, her breath still ragged.

  "I know. And Victoria? I will make those dreams of yours a reality. And it will be a million times more intense than this."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Victoria

  On Thursday, Isabelle and I visit an interior design fair downtown. Furniture designers show off their creations, and the venue will be buzzing with vendors and buyers alike. Hello, potential clients. The chances of convincing someone to hire us merely by pitching to them at a fair are much slimmer than in the case of people coming from recommendations, but it's still a source. We try to attend as many local fairs as possible.

  By the time Isabelle and I reach the venue, it's raining cats and dogs. We both have umbrellas, but it's not helping much. The strong wind carries the raindrops everywhere, drenching my coat.

  "Damn," Isabelle exclaims as we enter the venue.

  "Yeah."

  The place is packed, of course, as I expected it to be.

  "Divide and conquer?" I suggest.

  "You're on," she replies. The venue has been split into four areas, and we each take on two.

  "Let's meet up at the coffee shop area at the end of the hall afterward to talk about our findings," I suggest.

  "Perfect."

  I fish the notebook I brought out of my bag and start writing down trends that strike me as innovative, aesthetically pleasant, or just practical. My clients' needs and requirements vary considerably, which is good; it keeps me on my toes, makes things more interesting. I jot down items that might be a good fit for my current clients, and I also hand out business cards to people looking for decorators.

  When I arrive in front of a classic living room display, I bump into the one person I was hoping to avoid: my former employer, Natasha Jenkins. I haven't seen her since she fired me. Isabelle said Natasha was furious when she left the company to join me.