It was a totally new experience with exactly the right person.
Aware I’m grinning like a moron, I lose the smile and shake the thoughts out of my mind. I’m determined to shore up today. To be professional and focused on work. The last thing I need is to complicate the one uncomplicated relationship in my life.
Benji is easy, and if I didn’t think so before, I know so now. He had my shirt off and his hands in my pants and was A-okay letting me bolt from my office. He didn’t chase me or insist on dinner. He didn’t act like it was strange or awkward to give his best friend an orgasm on the guest couch in her office, so I’m not going to act that way either.
He gave me what I wanted. Little did I know when I was joking with Vivian on the phone I was placing an order he would happily fulfill.
That perfect, blissful moment was ruined when I spotted Trish’s name on the screen of his ringing phone. I shouldn’t have let her call ruin everything, but down deep, it hurt. I didn’t know they were back in touch, which means he’s kept that information from me. I also didn’t miss the spark of apology in his brown eyes when he noticed I saw her name.
That said, he doesn’t owe me anything, not even an explanation. He didn’t promise me anything other than what he gave me. It was a gift he offered, one I accepted, and that should be enough. He didn’t expect anything in return. All I have to do is convince my body we are moving on, because parts of me want more.
Throbbing, neglected parts.
I take a different street so as not to pass Vivian’s office—no way am I laying this out for her while she’s at work. I’ll wait until a girls’ night out when we both have cosmopolitans the size of our heads in front of us on the bar top. I turn the corner where a nail salon sits next to a posh boutique selling accessories. Maybe I’ll pop in and buy myself something nice. I’m not much of an accessory person, but I do like the occasional ring or purse—
The thought freezes in my brain like I stepped into a subzero chamber. And like the cold sucked the oxygen from my lungs, for a second I can’t breathe.
It’s Benji, as in Benjamin Owen, standing on the sidewalk in a walkway between storefronts. In the shadows, he’s talking closely with a tall, leggy blonde I know well. Patricia, better known as Trish, better known as his longest relationship. Not only did she call yesterday, they evidently arranged to meet. And here they are.
Meeting.
I back around the corner from whence I came and hide behind a small decorative tree. It isn’t concealing me completely, but Benji isn’t looking anywhere but at Trish. She looks sad. Her shoulders are hunched. While I watch, he pulls her into his arms, hugging her as he places a kiss on her temple. Her face screws into pleats as she wraps her arms around his waist.
My stomach sours. My heart aches. I look down at the bakery bag holding two fat chocolate muffins. I’ve lost my appetite. I come out from behind the tree and toss the bag into the nearest trashcan, throwing one final look over my shoulder. I don’t know why I do it. Seeing him with Trish is sheer torture. If he kisses her, I might throw up.
As if he feels me watching, he turns his head. He scowls as a flash of blond hair vanishes behind a door bisecting the alley. She must work in that building. He dips his chin, giving me a stern look before checking for traffic and jogging over to me.
I can either run away or stand here and listen while he tries to make me feel better about what I just witnessed. Instead, I smile and pretend like the chill seeping into my bones doesn’t exist.
“Hey! This is a surprise!” I say cheerily. He’s still scowling when he comes to a stop in front of me. “I should have listened to my first instinct and bought two matchas. Here you are, and I only have the one.” I elevate my cup. “I can go back and pick one up for you. I know you like coffee better than matcha, though. Would you prefer a cappuccino?”
“What are you doing here?” he interrupts my inane, and possibly insane, monologue.
“Matcha latte.” I hold up my cup. “What about you?” My tone loses some of its chirp.
“I know you saw me with Trish.”
Crap. This is the problem with lying to your best friend. They can tell you’re doing it.
“Is that who that was?” What can I say, I’m committed to my path.
“You know it was. She—”
“You don’t have to explain.” The sad part is, I mean it. I don’t want him to break up with me when we aren’t dating. I don’t want to see the pity in his eyes when he tries to let me down easy. “You and Trish were close. As close as I’ve ever seen you to anyone.” It’s miserable to admit but no less true. Worse, I remember vividly how she had his undivided attention when they dated. She’s smart, savvy. Fun. “I imagine it’d be easy to fall in with her again given you broke up so recently.”
“Six months ago.” His expression is unreadable.
“Has it been six months already?” My high-pitched tone betrays me.
“You know it has been.” He takes my hand in his. “Come on. We’re going somewhere we can talk. I’ll buy you breakfast.”
“But—”
He leads me to the corner to a restaurant called Your Daily Brunch. He releases my hand to open the door for me, but I don’t move.
“I’m sure they wouldn’t like it if I took this inside.” I hold up my matcha. “Why don’t I finish drinking it while you grab a table?” I read somewhere that nodding while you speak tricks the other person into agreeing with you even if they don’t. My tactic fails miserably on him.
“And let you drive off to parts unknown? Forget it. If the staff complains about your matcha, I’ll deal with it.” His hand wraps around mine again. Less than one minute later we’re seated by a window in a cozy corner at the rear of the restaurant.
The waitress doesn’t bat an eye at my matcha. She takes our orders and leaves us alone. Meanwhile, Benji is staring a hole through my head. I can feel it. I finally look at him, but I am not letting him speak before I get in at least one preemptive strike.
I lower my voice but speak loud enough so he can hear me over the din of diners. “Let’s call yesterday a one-off. It’s already weird, and you promised if it was weird we could forget it happened and go back to normal.”
“Wrong. I told you I wouldn’t forget.”
“But you did agree to go back to normal.” I point at him. “I won’t stand in the way of you and Trish patching things up, especially when she—”
“Her mom’s dying.”
I blink. “Her—what?”
“Her mom. She’s dying. Terminal cancer. They only gave her a month. Trish doesn’t have any family in town. She found out yesterday and needed someone to talk to about it. When she called again this morning, I picked up and she was crying and asking for advice. I drove over to be here for her. I didn’t want to do it over the phone. That’s it. That’s all.”
My heart melts.
He’s such an epically kind person.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” And I am. Truly. My mom and I may not be the most stellar example of mother-daughter camaraderie, but if she was sick and dying it would leave a scar. A deep one. “Poor Trish. Do you want me to send flowers? Or a fruit basket? Or if she’s leaving town to visit her mom, we could send a Starbucks gift card for her travels.”
When I tip my head to look up at him, he’s smiling. Soft, easy. “You’re always thinking of everyone else, aren’t you? Even when I offer to give you something, you’re worried about my pleasure more than your own.”
“It’s a habit.”
“It’s a bad one.” He’s no longer smiling. “Here’s the deal, Cris. We’re not done. We’re not remotely done. We’re not only going to do it again, we’re going to push this to the edge of what you can take. To the pinnacle of what you really want. I’m not saying you have to sleep with me, but I am saying you have to allow yourself to take and take until you can’t take any more. It’s no less than you deserve.”
I’m staring at him, my latte cooling in my hand. H
e’s staring at me, unblinking. The waitress sets our plates in front of us. I blink first.
“Anything else?” the young girl asks, having no idea what she walked into.
“Do you want anything else, Cris?” Benji raises his thick eyebrows. “Are you brave enough to ask for it if you do?”
His challenge is about more than breakfast accoutrements and we both know it. The waitress doesn’t, offering to bring hot sauce or their specialty house tomatillo salsa for our eggs.
“It’s up to the lady,” Benji says, his eyes glued to mine.
“You were the one laying down the law a second ago.” I fiddle with the saltshaker.
He dips his chin into a barely-there nod, and then addresses the waitress. “We’ll take both. And anything else to put this breakfast over the top. We’ve never been here before.” Eyes back on mine, his voice dips low and seductive. “We don’t want to miss a thing.”
The waitress leaves. I wrestle my gaze from Benji and take in the crowded restaurant. Not exactly the most private place for a discussion of this magnitude.
A second later he stands and moves to my side of the booth. His hip bumps mine as he scoots me over. He folds his hands on the tabletop, tips his head, and watches me. Up close he’s glorious. Perfect golden skin almost bronze in color. Dark hair I intimately know the feel of between my fingers. Eyes so expressive I’m held captive by them. Those half-open lids fringed with a million black lashes. I’ll never forget him. Never. Even if we burn our friendship to ash and I never work in this town again.
I doubt either of those things will happen, but I justify he would be worth it. One orgasm at his hand was already worth it. Touching him once more would be worth it…
“Do you know what I saw when I was on my knees in front of you yesterday?” His voice is a low rumble. Seductive. Husky.
I shake my head. Paralyzed by his intensity.
“Numbers never lie. So I’ll give you the numbers.”
I’m not sure I follow, but I’m riveted.
“Four. That’s how many seconds passed between your yes and the moment I slid my hand into your panties. One. How many fingers it took to take you there. Six. The number of times your eyelids fluttered when you came on my hand. Three. How many times you moaned while you were coming.” He’s leaning close, talking quiet. My breathing has escalated like I’m jogging instead of sitting still.
“Two,” he murmurs next. “How many fast breaths you just took. Kiss me, Firecracker. No one’s paying attention.”
I can’t resist so I do as he asks, my eyes closed, my lips parted. He’s proven wrong a moment later when our waitress interrupts. She loudly settles a plate filled with ramekins onto the table. In those ramekins are sauces in an array of colors.
“Here you go,” she announces, before asking if there is anything else. There’s not, so she moves away from our table.
Benji dips a finger into a creamy aioli and sucks it clean. He’s smiling when he asks, “What do you say, Cris? Should we try a bit of everything?”
I swallow thickly. And then smile as I nod.
Yes. Hell yes.
Chapter Eleven
Cris
By the end of the week I’m fairly certain the conversation at the restaurant was a vivid hallucination.
I could have sworn Benji’s offer meant he’d be in hot pursuit, but he backed off. We left Grand Marin after breakfast, which was delicious once I committed to eating instead of melting into a puddle of hormonal goo at his feet, and then we returned to the office. Other than a few teasing winks, which I thought (and hoped) would lead to more, nothing physical happened between us. The only other time he touched me that day was when he gripped my hips to slide me to one side and open the refrigerator while I waited for my coffee to brew.
Then…nothing.
He wasn’t being rude. He didn’t seem upset. But this isn’t the same “friend” who didn’t touch me before either. We don’t act like two people who recently spent intimate time together. Was it so impersonal for him?
Gone was the dirty-talking Benji reciting numbers to me in the most delightfully filthy way. Gone was the “let’s try a bit of everything” talk.
Maybe he’s distracted and the change has nothing to do with me. This could be Benji being Benji. He has a habit of hyperfocusing on whatever task is at hand. Unfortunately, life-coach Cris shares headspace with received-orgasm-from-Benji Cris. The waters are completely muddied.
So much for things not getting complicated.
But it doesn’t have to be complicated, I find myself arguing. The benefit of him being my best friend and my boss is I know how him well. He’s been rushing around here the last few days, eyes unfocused, phone in hand as he swipes the screen and refreshes his email. He’s impatient. He’s distracted. He zones out at his laptop when he’s not rushing around.
I refilled his water several times this week. He paused to flash me a grateful smile each time. It wasn’t a seductive one, though. It’s his default smile, the amenable one he shares with everyone. I can tell the difference.
I stretch in my chair and check the clock. It’s after six, and I should have gone home by now. My stomach rumbles, reminding me the granola bar I ate for lunch is long gone. I stand and look out my office window. The clouds hang low as a light spring rain sweeps over the yard. It’s peaceful, and after a stressful week I could use some peace. Unfortunately, it’s also making me tired. I yawn behind my hand.
After a quick bathroom trip, I pack up. I’m not sure what happened to Benji. I heard him on a conference call an hour ago, but then his voice faded as he moved from his office to pace through the house. He likes to walk around while he talks. Although I’m not sure if it’s a preference as much as it’s a compulsion. He’s always had restless energy to burn.
Purse and laptop bag hooked on my shoulder, I stroll into the kitchen to grab my tumbler drying on the dish rack when I hear a quiet snore from the living room. I set my things down on the counter and round the couch. Found him.
He’s lying on his back, eyes closed, mouth slightly ajar. He sucks in a heavy breath, and I squat down in front of him. I’m trying to decide whether to tell him I’m leaving, or if I should let him sleep.
I move to stand, but my eyes snag on the sight of his body sprawled the length of the couch. His button-down shirt, purple and white checked today, is rumpled but still partially tucked into charcoal gray slacks. The dark leather belt matches his shoes, Ferragamos of course. Him and his fancy footwear. He’s beautiful. Just sinfully gorgeous. I sigh, my hands on my knees as I begin to stand. I purposely resist the urge to look at his face where his dark lashes are probably fluttering in sleep, and his thick hair is tossed rakishly over his forehead. There’s only so much torture a girl can take.
A hand catches my wrist before I stand all the way up. When I jerk my attention down, I find those dark lashes shadowing open eyes. He blinks. Slowly. He doesn’t say anything as he tugs my wrist. I sit on the cushion and twist to face him. Given the limited space, I have to lean one arm on the back of the sofa—the one he isn’t holding.
He licks his full bottom lip. I stare at the dampness, wanting to lean in and have a taste.
“You were sleeping,” I say to break the silence.
His grin is honey slow and his heavy-lidded eyes lower in another sexy blink. This man kills me. He’s a god fallen to earth and I’m a mortal, weakened by his beauty.
So, I offer no excuse when I curve my body toward him and put my lips on his. The kiss is sweet, brief.
Too brief.
When I would’ve stopped, he lets go of my wrist and uses his hand to cup my jaw. He pulls my mouth to his and kisses me again. This kiss is sweet like the last one but unlike the last one, not brief. He lingers, his lips on mine for a deliciously long time. Long enough for my heart to shimmy around my chest untethered, knocking into my ribcage like a drunk at a rave.
“What’s wrong, Firecracker?” he asks against my mouth. “Am I moving too slow
for you?”
I have to process the question. I think of the past few days, my worry that he was no longer interested. My frustration at not knowing how to act or what to say.
I back away and frown. “Is that what you’re doing?”
He props himself up on an elbow. “No.”
I let out a disbelieving grunt.
“I didn’t realize you were in a hurry.”
“I’m not.” Defensiveness is a bad look on anyone. On me especially. I’m unaccustomed to asking for what I want, to putting anyone out for what I want.
“That kiss suggested differently.”
“I wasn’t planning on kissing you, but you looked so…” I press my lips together, unwilling to finish.
His eyebrows climb his forehead. “So…?”
I dare myself to say it and then surprise myself when I do.
“Hot,” I blurt.
“You’re the hot one, Firecracker. By the way, do you still like that nickname better than coach?”
“Much.”
He grins, pleased.
“Are you on your way out?” he asks. Talk about an abrupt subject change.
“It’s after six,” I say, when what I should have said was yes. Or no. Hell, I don’t know.
He hums in his throat. The noncommittal sound doesn’t clue me in to what he’s thinking.
“You’ve had a busy week,” I say. “I can see how you would forget…things. Why don’t I head out and plan on seeing you Monday.” I stand. He stands with me. He’s no longer smiling.
“You think I forgot?”
“Didn’t you?” I whisper.
“You said no work hours. You’ve hustled me out of here every day to go jogging at five. You made the hastiest of escapes afterward.”
“You stopped acting interested,” I accuse. “I didn’t want to be presumptuous.” I hate arguing. I hate that I might have been wrong—might still be wrong.
He shakes his head. It’s almost a sad shake, one that has me quaking down to my toes.
Crap. I was wrong. He was being nice, hoping I’d forget the promises he made over breakfast. The sincerity in his eyes is too much to take. I wonder if Trish called him this week and wormed her way back into his life. She’s sad about her mom, and as a guy who’s lost parents, he can sympathize. They’ve probably forged some unbreakable connection. I can’t fault him for it. I might feel the same way in his position.
Charmed by the Billionaire Page 8
