by Elise Faber
So she searched for her panties, yanked them up her legs, and was just reaching for her bra when Ben walked back into the room.
“What are you doing?” he asked, prowling over to her, his delicious body on display.
“I need to get home,” she said. “Fred will be waiting for me.”
His brows drew together, the light from the hallway enough that she didn’t miss the blast of fury in his eyes. Then they cleared. “Your dog.”
“Yup.” She pulled on her bra.
He frowned. “Why don’t you stay for a couple of hours? Get some sleep, and I’ll drive you to your car in the morning.”
She yawned. “It is morning,” she said. “And Fred will be worried.”
Something else in his eyes, but he merely nodded then moved around the room, gathering up the remainder of her clothing and handing it to her. Then he went through a door, and flicked on a light, illuminating a closet.
He came back out as she was stepping into her shoes, fully dressed, a hoodie in his hands, thrusting it at her. “It’ll be cold.”
There went her heart again.
It was dangerous how vulnerable the sliver of kindness made her. The care that he presented was nothing. She’d seen inside his closet, saw the racks of clothes. Surely, he wouldn’t miss one sweatshirt.
But it still meant a lot.
Because he’d thought about it.
About her.
“Thanks,” she whispered, tugging it over her head and slipping into the bathroom to use the facilities and to wash her hands.
He wasn’t in the bedroom when she came out, and she strolled down the hall, popping in to say goodbye to Sweetheart on her way out. The little pup was curled up in the back of her crate, her eyes closed, but she gave Stef a tail wag and lick on her hand when she reached in and scratched Sweetheart between her ears.
“Bye, baby,” Stef crooned, locking up and turning off the light in the dog room, her lips twitching when she saw that Ben had rigged up several nightlights that left the space in a comforting glow.
Ben was standing across the hall, so handsome that she felt her heart lurch.
“I can’t believe you tamed the beast,” he said, his voice roughened velvet that slipped between her legs. Combined with that and the spicy scent of his sweatshirt surrounding her, and she thought she might already be addicted.
One hit and she’d gone down the rabbit hole.
“She’s not so bad,” Stef said, walking past him. He held her purse, apparently having retrieved it from wherever she’d dropped it.
Maybe the white rug.
Maybe the hall.
Honestly, she couldn’t remember.
“Tell that to the dozens of pet sitters and everyone in my office who have either quit or are terrified of her.”
Stef took the purse when he held it out. “I’m hoping the quitting is related to the pet sitters and not your employees?”
A grin that sunk like an arrow into her heart.
If an arrow was good.
Okay, that was a horrible analogy, but still she felt the impact of his grin like it was something physical.
“The quitters were the dog sitters,” he said, inclining his head to the front door. “The terrified are my employees.”
“Poor things.”
“When you have a snarling beast chasing you, tell me how you’d react.”
Stef snorted. “What is she? All of four pounds?”
“Four-point-six frightening pounds.”
Laughter bubbled in her chest. “That point-six makes a difference.”
“Damn right, it does.”
He held the door open—or rather, pushed the button to call the elevator—and after a few moments the panel slid open, the silver doors parting behind it, and they stepped on.
“A private elevator is pretty fancy.”
His eyes slid to hers. “Perk of owning the building.”
Her brows lifted. “That’s fancy, too,” she said. “And here I was proud of paying off my Prius.”
He went quiet, very quiet, and she almost felt him spooling back into himself, locking down the outer layers and locking them down tightly.
“I’m kidding.” She touched his arm. “My friend’s mom owns one of the big cosmetics businesses, so I know that money can make some people feel awkward.” A wince. “Sorry if my lame attempt at fishing for a joke did the same. She prefers directness, and I shouldn’t have assumed you are the same.”
Still quiet.
The doors opened and she stepped off, immediately seeing the exit of the underground garage and turning toward it.
Ben caught her arm. “My car’s that way.”
She shrugged him off. “I know.” She moved to the exit.
Suddenly, his broad, hard body was an inch from her nose, and she was reminded how she hadn’t had enough time to explore it. She wanted her mouth on every centimeter, wanted to tease out every single sensitive nook and cranny.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he snapped.
“I’m just going to get a Lyft,” she said. “You’ve done more than your due diligence and—”
She yelped in surprise when he suddenly had her pinned against the wall.
He didn’t hurt her, quite the opposite, actually. He’d weaved his arms around her, his hands a barrier between the wall and her body. “What the fuck are you doing?” he snapped again.
“I’m going home,” she said into those eyes of deep, deep russet. Beautiful eyes. His picture on the app hadn’t done them justice. “Go to bed, Ben. You’ve done more than your fair share tonight.”
His brows dragged together.
Sparks flashed in those beautiful eyes.
And then he didn’t say anything, just wrapped his fingers around her arm, and said, “I’m driving you home.”
Stef knew she could argue, knew she probably should. The need to give in and let him take care of her was certainly the biggest reason for it. The fact that she’d made him uncomfortable in the elevator was another. Her addiction, still one more. But . . . she just wanted a little more time.
Because, who knew if she’d see him again?
Because she’d been groomed over and over again to expect that any good times would invariably come to an end.
So probably, she should retreat, protect herself.
Instead, she did what she always did. The stupid, idiotic thing. She reached out and grasped on.
“Okay,” she said.
She’d barely gotten the agreement out before he was guiding her over to the car. Her purse slipped down her arm, and he snagged it for her, opening her door and waiting for her to sit down before buckling her in. The metal panel shut, and he walked around the car, opening his own door and dropping into his seat. Gently, he set the purse down at her feet, started up the engine, and backed out of the stall.
Through the city streets . . . in silence.
To the freeway . . . in silence.
South toward her house . . . in silence.
She thought of a dozen things to say and just as quickly dismissed them. Too tired. Too vulnerable. Too—
His hand rested on her knee, and she jumped, jarred out of her thoughts.
Immediately, he withdrew, and she opened her mouth to tell him that she hadn’t jumped because of him, had rather just been so locked into her thoughts that she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone.
For God’s sake! Get out of your head, Stef.
And while it was always a shitty time to hear Jeremy’s voice, it was especially a shitty time when it was—her eyes flicked to the dash to see the time—4:36 in the morning.
God, she could fuck the man, but she couldn’t talk to him?
Say something. Anything.
Thanks for the orgasms and the movie, let’s do it again.
You’re sexy and I want to give you my number.
Please, don’t ghost me like I ghosted you.
Thank you for the ride and the—
But the words stayed lo
cked on her tongue, in her mind, in her throat, and then she looked out the window and realized where she was.
Nearly at her condo.
Well, she supposed with a yawn, that she’d just get her car after she slept. She was probably too tired to drive anyway.
“What number?” Ben asked, both hands now clenched tight on the steering wheel. Strong hands, strong fingers, fingers that had been inside her.
His eyes came to hers, and she blinked. “On the end. White mailbox.”
He nodded, navigated to her driveway and pulled the car to a stop.
Her throat was still tight, the words still stoppered up. “Thanks,” she managed to squeeze out. “For the—”
Ben opened his door and got out so quickly that she was still talking when the door shut, still blinking at his movements when hers opened. He reached in, unbuckled her seat belt, and snagged her purse, waiting for her to get out before trailing her to the door.
She unlocked the door, stepped inside.
Ben waited on the porch, and she was summoning more words when Fred came bounding down the hall, a soft “woof” in the air that had her ordering, “Wait.”
Her good boy waited.
Her . . . complicated, confusing man also waited.
Although Ben wasn’t hers.
They’d watched a movie. They’d fucked. They’d talked a bit. He wasn’t her anything.
Fred crept forward, his feet not crossing that invisible barrier of the threshold, even though his nose crept over it, smelling Ben’s hand when he held it out. Tentatively. Fred sniffed and then licked and then, as per his usual, his tail went propellor.
“Wait,” she reminded him.
He plunked his butt on the floor and looked up adoringly at Ben, who carefully and slowly set her purse on the porch before bringing his other hand down and beginning to scratch the sides of Fred’s head, his ears, his neck.
Fred practically turned into a puddle.
“You’re a good boy, aren’t you, buddy?” Ben murmured, and his rough, sexy voice had her melting into a puddle, desperate for him to call her a good girl.
“Thank you,” she blurted.
Ben had crouched as he scratched Fred, and now he glanced up at her, those eyes deep, unreadable pools of brown.
He still didn’t say anything.
“And I’m sorry about the elevator and that you had to drive out to pick me up—”
“I’m not.”
But the words that had been smothered in her voice box were now out in full force, a different kind of smothering, a blurt that filled the air with unnecessary words. “And I know it was an inconvenience for you to come get me and to bring me home and probably the movie, too, since you hadn’t planned on going out. And then I made it weird in the elevator, and I like your rug in the entryway, but how doesn’t it get dirty? And—”
He cupped her cheek. “Goodnight, Stef.” He brushed his lips over hers, released her. And as she was still catching her breath, he bent again, snagged her purse, and put it over the threshold, then reached for the handle.
The door snicked closed.
She stared at that closed panel of wood and knew that she’d had her fun.
And now it would be done.
“Goodbye, Ben,” she whispered.
In the morning—or rather, well in the afternoon—Stef managed to peel herself out of bed and shower.
Her body was deliciously sore, long unused muscles tense from their exertions.
But the shower went a long way to making her human, along with a bagel absolutely slathered with her cinnamon cream cheese. And coffee. Couldn’t forget regenerating herself with the hearty, black brew.
By the time she was human again, she retrieved her purse and her phone and started to call up the app to get a ride to the restaurant.
Then she happened to walk by her family room.
Or rather, by the large window in the family room, her gaze catching on . . . her car in the driveway. That couldn’t be.
Mouth falling open, she lurched for the door and yanked it open.
A blue Prius. The right passenger’s side rim a little damaged since she sucked at parallel parking. A golden retriever shaped air freshener hanging from the rearview. She couldn’t check the license plate, because she never remembered the combination of numbers and letters—though she could recall it having a seven, which this Prius also had.
Except . . . she’d left her car at the bar.
Frowning, she moved closer to it, glancing inside to see the collection of trash on the floor (since she was one of those messy car people), along with several empty disposable coffee cups crammed into the cupholders.
Her cell buzzed in her hand, and she stared down at it in confusion.
Part because it was a text message, and one that appeared to be from Ben.
Part because her car had mysteriously appeared in her driveway.
The text only said.
Mailbox.
Another blink.
More confusion.
But she made her way to her mailbox, tugged open the little door, and saw the envelope inside. “Um, okay,” she muttered, snagging it and tearing open the top, even though she’d already suspected and could feel what was inside.
Her car keys.
She blipped the locks, just to make sure, and predictably, the lights flashed, the locks clicking open.
Her heart seized, squeezing hard enough to take her breath away.
How he’d done it, she didn’t know. Well, she supposed she knew how he’d done it, snagging her keys from her purse at some point—her car fob was separate from her set for the house, since she had all of her work keys on that same ring and hated the noise of them rattling when they hung from the ignition.
Still, she didn’t know how.
Or maybe the more important question was that she didn’t know why.
She’d gone to bed thinking she would never hear from him again, thinking that all his quiet meant that he was done with her.
And then he’d fetched her car.
Or had someone do it for him, considering he owned that penthouse with the private elevator—considering he owned that entire building. San Francisco real estate prices were insane. That told her enough about his financial status. The man probably had underlings for days.
Retrieving a car was nothing more than a nice man doing a nice thing.
And washing his hands of her.
She frowned.
Hating that thought.
Hating that it chased her all the way inside.
Chapter Sixteen
Ben
He didn’t turn on his car until after Stef went inside, even though exhaustion was pulling at his eyelids.
He’d kept up his vigil from the moment he’d dropped Stef off. Staying until it was a semi-reasonable hour and he’d called Baine and Spence to come and retrieve the keys. Waiting as they’d gone and returned with the car, parking it in Stef’s driveway. Baine had come to Ben’s window after stashing the keys in the mailbox as ordered, grinning like a lunatic and asking, “Anything you want to tell me?”
“F.I.R.E.D,” he’d responded.
To which Baine had just grinned and shaken his head. “Car needs a wash.”
Maybe he’d arrange that next.
“Go home,” he said. “And take Monday off. I know it’s not your favorite waking up at dawn to work on a Saturday.”
Baine stared at him, shook his head, and started walking over to Spence’s car. “I’ll see you Monday,” he called over his shoulder.
“Baine—”
His assistant spun back. “I didn’t do it because you’re my boss,” he said, closing the distance between them. “Spence did,” he added with a jerk of his chin, “because he hasn’t been around long enough to know that you fucking bend over backward for us every chance you get.”
Ben sucked in a breath.
“You know how many times you’ve ever asked me for a favor?” Baine demanded. “On a Saturday
or otherwise?”
Ben shook his head.
“Never.” Baine’s jaw clenched and then relaxed. “You’ve done me a shit-ton of them, starting with giving me the job even though my dumbass lied on the application, letting me have time off to be with my daughter anytime I needed it, giving me raises I didn’t deserve when her mom disappeared—”
“You deserved them.”
Baine just continued talking. “I didn’t,” he said, “I was barely around for those six months, and then when I finally got my shit together and was able to focus on work, when Beth”—his baby mama—“showed back up, fucked up out of her mind, you hooked me up with that lawyer. She helped me get full custody, even though I knew that it wasn’t an easy fight. Who helped me get her into that good preschool? Who set me up with the nanny?”
Ben’s hands clenched into fists, the words rolling over him.
It was nothing.
All of that was hardly anything.
“You’re a good dad,” he told Baine, “and Lei deserves to have you in her life all the time. She deserves a good school and you work better for me if you know she’s secure.”
Baine tapped the frame of the car. “I know,” he said. “She deserves the fucking world.” His pale blue eyes locked on Ben’s. “And you gave it to her. So, don’t you ever act like you asking me for one thing outside of work is an inconvenience. You haven’t been just my boss for years. You’re my friend, and I have your back.”
Ben sucked in a breath, wanting to disagree, to tell him not to bother.
But Baine probably recognized that opposition rolling up his throat, dancing on the tip of his tongue. “See you Monday,” he said.
“Spence—”
“Will be there, too.”
“Fuck,” Ben muttered, rolling up his window and preparing to drive away. He needed to get home, needed to see what kind of trouble Sweetheart had gotten into. Claire—another favor he owed—had let her out of the kennel earlier that morning, had fed her.
And though she’d texted and said that Sweetheart had been markedly . . . sweet—or at least sweet for her (meaning she hadn’t attempted to bite ankles, instead just grumbling her way to her food dish), he knew he couldn’t ignore his responsibilities. Even if he was tempted to walk right up to Stef’s door and take credit for returning her car.