by Elise Faber
And take something else.
“Fuck,” he muttered again, hitting the ignition and reaching for the gear shift.
His phone buzzed.
He started to ignore it, thinking that Baine was going to give him more shit, but when his eyes caught on the contact’s name, his heart thudded. Once and very hard against his ribs.
Red Lips.
Stef.
His cock went hard.
How’d you get my number?
His fingers were typing before he fully processed picking up his cell.
I have my ways.
A beat then,
Like the ways you managed to get my car mysteriously back in my driveway?
His lips twitched.
Yep.
Another buzz.
I thought you’d forgotten. I was just going to get it today.
He replied.
I know. But you were tired, and it wasn’t any trouble.
Not for him, anyway. Baine, who’d had to call in his nanny, and Spence, who’d had to get his and Baine’s asses to the restaurant at the butt crack of the morning, they might say differently.
Even though they specifically hadn’t said differently.
Even though he was ignoring that part.
A heartbeat passed.
I keep having to thank you.
He sent back,
You don’t, you know.
The “…” appeared. Then,
I do. But not because I feel obligated. Because I am thankful. Those were really kind things you did and—
Ben waited for her to finish the rest of the text. When she didn’t, he typed out a reply.
And what?
Long moments passed.
And I just wanted to say thank you because that was kind, even though I know I made things weird. That’s my superpower, making things weird.
He smiled.
I thought your superpowers were Hoovering and taming beasts.
Only a couple of seconds before she replied.
You’ve discovered my evil secret. I, in fact, have three superpowers.
Ben chuckled.
I’m a lucky, lucky man.
He pressed send, and a full minute passed before she replied.
Will you tell me something?
Anything.
That was what he wanted to send. Instead he typed out something else.
Does it involve my superpowers?
She did that react thing with the message, a little “ha-ha” icon appearing by his text before the “…” went again.
I didn’t think I’d hear from you again.
His heart thudded.
He clenched his jaw, forced it to relax. For a moment, in the elevator, he’d thought the same. Thought it would be smarter to let her go. It was never a good sign for someone to talk about his money. He’d been convinced in a couple of sentences that she’d fooled him, that she was after something, after a meal ticket or maybe a funny story to sell the tabloids—Billionaire has Viscous Dog. Hunt CEO is Too Good to Ride with the Common Folk.
But then she’d started babbling, explaining about her friend’s mom and apologizing, and even then he’d still thought it was a line, a way of trying to get back on his good side, so she could get that meal ticket.
Until she’d headed for the exit.
Until she’d been shocked he had stopped her.
Until he remembered the look on her face when he’d pulled up outside the bar, when he’d offered to drive her to her car, when he’d passed her the sweatshirt.
As though she’d been lacking in receiving kindness.
And the urge to give it to her was instinctual.
He couldn’t let her go.
He’d seen her phone flashing inside her purse as he’d tucked her into her seat, had noticed it didn’t have a passcode (something he was going to talk to her about soon), and hadn’t been able to stop himself from programming in his number, from using it to call his cell so he had hers.
Then as he’d driven, listening to her yawn, her half-lidded stare out the windshield, he’d ignored his previous promise of picking up her car.
He’d programmed her street into his GPS without the number, not wanting to disturb her thoughts, to jar her out of her sleepy state, at least until he’d gotten as far as he was able. Then he’d touched her.
And she’d jumped.
He hated that jump, despised that reaction. He wanted her to be comfortable with him. But he wasn’t good with people, at least not outside of the business world. He didn’t do soft words, for one, sucked at explanations for his defensive behaviors, for another. So, he was struggling to come up with a way to put her at ease, to let her know that the thing in the elevator wasn’t a big deal after all when he’d pulled into the driveway.
Then had still wrestled with it as he’d walked her up to her house.
Had actually considered taking the coward’s way out and letting her go in that instant.
Until Fred.
Fucking cute ass dog, and well-behaved, and sweet, and nothing like Sweetheart and all her snarling. He’d actually listened. Then had relaxed into Ben’s scratching.
So he’d swooped back into Stef’s purse, knowing he was an asshole for invading her privacy like that a second time. But he’d convinced himself it was for a good cause, so he’d swiped the key fob.
He’d retrieved her car.
He wanted to hold on to Stef.
Ben?
Muttering a curse, he yanked himself out of his brain and typed.
That wasn’t a question.
A beat.
Oh.
His fingers worked on the screen.
For the record, that wasn’t either.
He could almost picture her nibbling at her bottom lip.
Can I take you to dinner? As a thanks?
That had him straightening in surprise. She wanted to take him to dinner. As a thanks? After the orgasm she’d given him?
His shock had him taking too long to reply because his cell vibrated again.
Never mind. That’s okay. Thanks again. Have a nice life.
Have a nice life.
The words ricocheted through his insides, startling him into motion, his fingers flying on the screen . . . but not to text Stef.
Instead, they pulled up Claire’s contact and hit call.
“I’ve got the beast,” Claire said. “I took her back to my place, and for some reason, she didn’t even try to bite me in the process.”
Not for some reason.
But for the sunshine inside that house, blasting through the darkness they’d both lived with for too long.
“Gonna tell me why that is?” she pressed.
“No.”
A chuckle. “Figured it was worth an ask.”
He snorted.
“Figured you’d respond like that, too.” A beat. “Which is why I’m telling you, as your new VP, to go . . . play.”
Then she hung up, the pain in his ass.
But he didn’t ignore her order.
Instead, he got out of his car, walked up the driveway, and knocked on the front door.
Chapter Seventeen
Stef
She was gathering her stuff for the beach, intending to make it a longer outing than usual to make up to Fred for her absence the previous night, when there was a knock on the door.
Freezing, remembering what the last knock had brought her to her doorstep, she sucked in a shoring breath and hoped like hell who was on the other side would go away.
The knock came again.
“Fuck,” she muttered, rotating from the small wall unit in the entryway where she kept all of Fred’s various accoutrements, she leaned to the side and peered through the small window on the side of the door.
Like she probably shouldn’t have done in that moment.
Because Ben must have seen the flicker of movement, and his deep brown eyes came down onto hers, and heat boiled in her belly.
He didn’t kn
ock again, just waited and watched as . . . she flicked open the lock.
He turned the handle, slowly pushed the door back so she had enough time to get out of the way, and she did, stumbling back a step as the panel swung wide, landing with a soft smack against the doorstop.
“Going somewhere?”
Fred skidded around the corner, crashing into the wall and running toward them—or rather, toward their new visitor. Stef opened her mouth—
“Wait.”
It hadn’t come from her. Instead, it slid through the air on Ben’s soft but firm baritone, the same voice that had ordered her to “Come” at some point hours before.
She shivered.
Fred plunked his ass on the floor.
They both looked at Ben.
“Going somewhere?” he asked, bending to scratch Fred, whose tail immediately began dusting the floor.
“The beach,” she breathed.
He glanced from the bag on her shoulder to Fred. Then back to her.
She shivered again.
“Okay if I come in?”
Was it?
He hadn’t replied to her asking him for dinner. Maybe he’d been driving and couldn’t? But then he’d been texting fast and furious before, so perhaps he’d . . . gotten a ride with whoever picked up her car, so hadn’t seen it?
Or maybe she wouldn’t have any of these answers unless she let him in.
Nodding, Stef stepped back, turning and catching the bag on the corner of the door, nearly sending it toppling off her shoulder.
Warm fingers caught it, slid it down her arm.
Another shiver.
And she was bustled backward, the door closing, Ben taking the bag and setting it on the ground before he snagged a hoodie off the hook and thrust it at her. Then when she just stared blankly at it, he stepped behind her, tucked it over her shoulders, and moved her limp arms into the sleeves.
“Better?” he asked, when he’d zipped it for her.
No.
Because now she was both burning up with desire and at risk of plunking her ass on the floor like Fred and begging Ben to deliver some of his touches that had made her melt only hours before.
He touched her cheek. “You want to buy me dinner?”
Her heart squeezed. “Seemed like a fair trade.”
“You want to see me again?”
Stef lifted her chin. “You tell me. You’re the one who got all quiet last night.”
“I tend to . . .” He shook his head. “I’m not great with people outside of a business setting. I can make a deal and charm and schmooze, but talking to a beautiful, smart, funny woman is . . . less comfortable.”
Brows lifting, she blurted, “You think it’s hard to talk to me?”
A small smile. “I’m not exactly a Lothario.”
“But . . . you’re the sexiest man I’ve ever seen and—”
His jaw fell open and then he started laughing, bending over at the waist, laughing and shaking his head, and when he glanced back up at her, his lips were curved into a grin that had her heart thumping. “That’s the second time you’ve said that, and now I know you need to get your eyes checked, baby.”
Clearly, he was the one who needed an optometrist, but she liked his smile so much that she didn’t point that out.
And anyway, she knew something of what it was like to look in the mirror and judge oneself. That was part of being a normal human with insecurities, and just because she thought he was beautiful didn’t mean that he saw the same in himself. Hell, she’d argue that the dent in confidence was something most people—including her—had.
Funnily enough, that unstuck her enough to cup his cheeks, to step closer.
Too close for hardly knowing him.
Not nearly close enough after the intimacy of last night.
“Thank you for getting me my car.”
His eyes flared, one hand covered hers. “You’re welcome.”
Thud-thud went her heart.
“Dinner?” she asked.
He hesitated, just for the barest moment before he nodded.
Her heart did a happy dance.
“Unless you’d rather come to the beach with us first?”
Another nod, the corners of his mouth turning up.
Not a happy dance this time. No, her heart was cracked open, laid bare, exposed and vulnerable . . . and she fell for him, just a little bit, right then and there.
“You do this every Saturday?” Ben asked, his hands in his pockets, his bare feet mixing with the sand below.
They’d both left their shoes and socks in the car—or in her case, her flip-flops—because she’d gotten one of the primo spots right near the steps that led down to the beach and had backed in.
Fred hadn’t even needed the leash she’d now clipped around her shoulders.
She’d just opened the back door, undid his seat belt, and he’d hit the waves.
Even as she’d winced, knowing how cold the ocean was in this part of California.
Not the warm waves of SoCal.
But the biting surf of the Bay Area. Good for swimming only on the rare days it was above ninety here on the coast, when the cold was actually a relief from the blazing heat that reflected off the sand.
She nodded, shifted carefully over a piece of seaweed and felt her ankle clench. “Every Saturday,” she agreed. “If only for a short walk. Fred loves the ocean.”
Ben turned to stare down at her. “You love it, too.”
Stef found her lips curving when Fred turned and barked at a wave that had dared sneak up on him, dousing his tail. “I like to see him like this.” She nodded in his direction. “But yes, I like it here, too. Even if it isn’t a warm Caribbean beach with clear blue waters, even if there are Great Whites prowling just off the coast, I do love to watch the sun set over waves.”
He turned, and she followed his gaze.
The sun was a while away from setting.
“Usually, we go later in the day,” she told him, just as Fred came back with a stick and dropped it at her feet. She launched it out into the surf, and he took off for it as she grinned up at Ben. “Otherwise my arm gives out.”
Laughter in his eyes as they both watched Fred retrieve the stick and then return it.
She threw.
He ran.
They repeated the pattern until he got distracted by a seagull and dropped it at Ben’s feet.
“Oh, you don’t have—”
Ben launched the stick much more effortlessly than she had.
And further.
“Is that too far?” he asked, shooting a concerned look in her direction.
She shook her head. “He’d swim forever,” she said. “But I usually just make sure to not throw it much farther than the first break.”
A quiet gaze studying the surf.
Then he nodded.
“Do you want to sit?”
His eyes came to hers. “Do you?”
She nodded, shifted her weight, and his stare flicked down, that careful, quiet studying now coming to her, to her ankle.
“What happened?” he asked, sitting down.
Following suit, she arranged her legs in front of her, knowing the scar from the surgery was easily spotted, bright pink against the white of her skin. “You didn’t notice it last night.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Her eyes darted to his.
“I . . . was more focused on other things.”
A bolt of heat slid through her. Indeed, he had been. “Surgery,” she offered when that now intense stare, probably remembering what she did—the heat, the pleasure, the fun—met hers. They were at a beach with her dog, and she wanted to strip him naked. That, too, was probably obviously displayed in her eyes. “Fred is a good boy”—he dropped the stick; Ben threw it again—“but his fatal flaw is squirrels. The turkey is obsessed with them, and it’s the only thing he’ll pull at, albeit rarely. I was on call for the lab, and my phone buzzed. I answered it, thinking it was work, when
really it was my ex—”
He winced.
She nodded, wondering why she was telling him this part when she hadn’t told anyone else about Jeremy calling, about him yelling at her and distracting her, and . . . no, about her stupid self picking up the phone, allowing herself to be distracted.
“Fred saw the squirrel. Fred decided that this was his one opportunity out of ten to lunge for the squirrel that had come into his orbit—”
Another wince.
“Yup,” she said. “The leash wrapped around my legs and took me down. I fell awkwardly, dropped my purse, my cell, and landed wrong. Really wrong. And I remember just lying there, trying to summon the strength to push myself up, to reach for my phone that was just out of reach.” She sighed. “And when I grabbed it, I could still hear my ex being an asshole, yelling about me yelling into the speaker when I’d fallen and then continuing on with some grievance about a sweatshirt.”
“A sweatshirt.”
“I may or may not have decided to keep his comfy sweatshirt after that,” she admitted, not really feeling guilty about it, even though she probably should, considering it was stealing. “Because he was a total dick about it, and then I had to have the surgery so it wasn’t exactly at the top of my priority list. The worst part is that he didn’t even ask if I was okay when I told him I thought I’d broken my ankle.” She wrinkled her nose. “He just told me that I’d better drop it by his place and . . .”
She trailed off at the expression on Ben’s face.
Thunderous was the mildest description she could come up with.
“He didn’t ask if you were okay?”