by Elise Faber
Her feet slid to a stop, and she swallowed hard.
He held her gaze as he knocked again.
“Right,” she whispered, moving to the door. Nothing had changed, even if he’d come back this time. There would be a time when he wouldn’t return or would tell her to go and . . .
She wasn’t going to open that door.
She’d drawn her line in the sand.
He held up something in the window.
No, not something, but a fur baby. Sweetheart and her cute little black eyes peered through the glass, her white body looking so tiny in Ben’s large hands.
And she knew she was fucked.
Her feet began moving, and she reached the door, hesitating again until there was another knock, Ben’s voice saying, “It’s cold out here.”
“Right,” she muttered, unlocking the door, knowing that she should just walk away and make him go back to his car.
But . . . Sweetheart.
But . . . Ben.
Her vulnerable, desperate heart wanted him for just a little longer.
She unlocked the door. Ben pushed it open.
Sweetheart wriggled her way out of his arms and into hers and began licking Stef’s chin with enthusiasm. Not sleepy this time, not calmly cuddling after a burst of protectiveness. She was a writhing ball of fluff, and Stef found her heart squeezing, her lips turning up into a smile.
“Hi, baby,” she murmured, stroking a hand down her back.
Her fur was so soft, and she couldn’t help but cuddle her closer. Ben slipped by them when she was distracted, and it took her a moment to realize he’d made more than one trip.
A backpack. A crate. A tote bag printed with Sweetheart’s face.
A paper bag with grease stains on the side.
The air filled with a delicious scent that went along with that paper bag, something fried, something that made her stomach, that had a week’s worth of boring salads ahead of it, rumble.
She needed.
“Dinner,” Ben said, unnecessarily.
“Right,” she whispered.
He closed the door, locked it, and ran his knuckles down her throat. “How do we do this?”
For a moment, she thought he meant her and him.
Then she realized he meant how did they introduce the dogs to each other. “Let me grab Fred’s leash.” Just in case her boy got a little rambunctious. She shoved Sweetheart at Ben, reached into her wall organizer for Fred’s leash, and then moved to the slider, opening it a fraction so that she could clip it to Fred’s collar.
“Okay,” she said. “You can let her down.”
Ben’s face was a study in concern, but he merely held her eyes for a second, as though reading her resolve, and then he nodded and put Sweetheart on the floor.
Please, let this go okay.
Sweetheart glanced around then her gaze came to her, to Fred.
And . . . it went horribly.
She sprinted over toward Fred, barking and snarling and becoming the beast Ben had accused her of being. But this wasn’t Stef’s first rodeo. She held tight to Fred’s leash, positioned herself between them, and waited for Sweetheart to reach them.
She’d already slowed by the time she came within five feet.
Then stopped at three feet away, her body quivering in fear this time.
Fred didn’t pull at the leash, just slumped to the floor in a movement that made Sweetheart jump and growl.
Silence filled the room, Sweetheart eyeing Fred like he was evil incarnate.
Then she tentatively took a step forward.
Fred didn’t move, merely opened one eye as she took another, and then another until they were nose-to-nose and Sweetheart was sniffing delicately. Fred huffed out a breath, flopping to the side and making her jump again, minus the growl this time. He held perfectly still as Sweetheart made her way around him, sniffing every blade of hair, it seemed.
Her eyes came to Stef’s, and Stef slowly reached a hand down to scratch Fred then her little head.
Sweetheart rumbled in contentment this time.
For just a moment before she surprised everyone but seemingly herself, and curled up between Fred’s outstretched legs, a tiny white ball amongst golden fur. Another contented hum, her eyes closing. Fred glanced at Stef, who gave him and Sweetheart another scratch. Then, he too, shut his lids.
“I’ll be damned,” Ben murmured.
Stef set down his leash, making sure to stay within reach, just in case there was an issue, but her gut told her there wouldn’t be.
Not with how relaxed Fred was.
“He shares your superpower?”
A little smug crept into her expression, and she didn’t bother to stifle it, “Told you.”
He smiled. “And rightly so, apparently.” A beat. “Remind me to never doubt you again.” He held up the bag of food. “Can I make it up to you with dinner?”
She stared at the bag, at the items in the hall.
Ben shifted a little closer. “I told you I was going to come back.”
“But for how long?”
He went so still that it only took her a second to realize that she hadn’t said that in her head as she’d intended. Oh no, she’d said it out loud. God, she’d said it out loud, revealing too much.
Ben set the bag on the table.
Her heart thudded, and she took a step backward, but he was already there, snagging her hand, drawing her over to the couch, turning her so that the backs of her legs hit the couch, pressing down on her shoulder until she sat.
“I’m going to tell you a story,” he said.
She inhaled.
“It’s not a happy story, and it’s not the kind of thing I share with anyone.” Her fingertips tingled, pulse pounding in her veins. “And I want you to know that I’ve never told anyone all of it.”
Trust.
He was trusting her with something that made him vulnerable.
The magnitude of that sat heavy on her chest, her tongue, her throat.
“Okay?”
She nodded, managed to force out “Okay” back.
“In all my enjoyment of hearing you talk yesterday, I didn’t get around to telling you what I do,” he said. “I’m the CEO of Hunt Inc. I started the business, grew it, still chair the board, and am now the majority shareholder.”
Her eyes went wide.
Hunt was . . . big.
Like owning the most popular social media apps and search engines and delving into video and TV and movies big. They’d been fairly small until the previous year, and now they were on the stock exchange and had gone global.
Last she’d heard, Hunt owned the most downloaded app in the U.S., U.K., India, and was expanding to Europe and China.
From blowing up the stock market to dominating worldwide in just three months.
Their independent movies had been popular for years, had won all those fancy awards, but the movie he’d taken her to see in the theater on Friday, that was their first big blockbuster, a film that was threatening to break opening weekend records—at least for a film that wasn’t a superhero flick.
“Most of Hunt’s success has come from the people below me who are smart and talented and have built it with me brick by brick,” he said, his hands resting on his thighs. “But the rest has come from me both being open to new ventures and also from me being a stubborn ass by refusing to jump into some when I didn’t feel like they were worth the risk.”
Her lips opened, closed, not sure what to say.
“I love the company,” he went on. “I’ve literally bled for it, but in the eight years I’ve been building it, I have always followed my instincts—even when people said I was a dumbass to do so.”
“Ben,” she began, still not sure what to say.
“And then three months ago, I got to where I wanted, and I felt . . . empty. My parents are gone, and I’d built Hunt for them, to show them I could be something, could make them proud.” He laughed humorlessly. “But I didn’t have anyone to share
it with. Then Claire downloaded Tinder.” His lips twitched. “Maybe I need to get Hunt into singles apps?”
She found herself chuckling. “Maybe.”
“So, she downloaded it onto my phone without me knowing, set up a profile, and . . . then you swiped.”
Her throat went tight. “I told you that I thought you were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen,” she whispered. “But I had to get good and drunk to get up the courage to swipe.”
“Well,” he said. “I’m glad you were drinking that night.”
Stef nibbled on her bottom lip. “What did you think when you saw the notification?”
“That I wanted to kiss that sexy mouth of yours.”
“Oh.”
He lightly bopped her nose. “Yeah. Oh.” A grin. “Then I was furious with Claire for doing it. She was the only one at the time with access to my phone,” he added. “That has now changed—my password and passcode, that is—so there won’t be any more downloads. Speaking of which, you need to set one up on your phone.”
Her nose wrinkled under his finger. “Not you, too. I hate having to type in my code every time I want to use my phone.”
“We’ll talk about that later,” he said with just enough pushiness that she frowned. But then he began talking again, distracting her. “My instincts said you were different, that there was something special about you.”
Special?
Um . . .
“I—”
“But I’m not great with women. I’m a geek who loves fantasy and Sci-Fi. I was a skinny geek until a few years ago when I started working out because I . . .” His lips pressed flat. “I didn’t have anything better to do. I spent my life being gangly and thin and not fitting my body. I’m not used to women giving me a second glance—or at least one that was due to the way I looked and not because they want a slice of Hunt.”
She reached for him, covered his hand, realized the callouses on them were from the hard work he put into the gym. “I’m not . . . I’m not like that—” Not special. Not after his money.
“I know.” A beat. “Why do you think I didn’t delete the app?”
“I . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know. It just seems like we don’t fit. You’re gorgeous and successful, and . . . I’m me. I work at a lab. I live in a condo, not a penthouse. We don’t make sense.” Another shake. “Hell, my longest relationship with a male is with Fred.”
His eyes flicked over to Fred and Sweetheart, now both soundly sleeping, and his mouth curved up.
“I don’t care about your past relationships or where you work or that you don’t think you’re absolutely the sexiest woman I’ve ever had the privilege of touching.” His hand found hers. “I don’t care that you live in a condo or that you like a God-awful amount of cream cheese on your bagels.” A squeeze. “I care that you love Fred and have weekly beach days with him. I care that you liked the movie on Friday and were fine just staying in, cuddling on the couch, and watching a show last night. I care that you kiss me like you mean it and that you worried about Sweetheart.”
He came a little closer, and her heart thumped at the intensity in his gaze. “I like you, Stef. For real. More than I should, considering the amount of time we’ve spent together, but I’m not backing off. I thought I’d messed up my chance with you three months ago, so to have this with you, now . . . I’m not just going to walk away.”
God, how she’d dreamed of such words.
God, how she wished she could believe them now.
Ben, apparently, could see that.
He touched her cheek. “I know that words are hard to trust,” he said. “Trust me, I’ve been around enough people to understand that. So”—his lips brushed hers—“I’m just going to show you that I’m not going anywhere.” Another brush. “Unless you want me to go.”
She’d spent the day building up armor around her heart, trying to ignore the pain of Ben leaving, of not being able to explore this thing between them, attempting to pretend it was for the best.
And after all that angst, one thing was critically clear.
She didn’t want him to go.
The part of her that still had hope, held tight to his words, his promise of showing her he’d stick around.
Maybe it was stupid.
But he was here and so earnest and . . . she wanted him, wanted this man.
“So, can you do something for me?”
Her stomach clenched, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Can you just give me a chance to prove I’m going to stick around?”
God, she liked this man so much.
So much that she felt her heart grow lighter, felt as though she could actually do this, and . . . she found herself teasing.
“That depends.”
His eyes warmed. “On what?”
“On two things, actually.”
He just lifted his brows and waited for her to speak.
“First, on what’s in the bag?”
Wordlessly, he snagged it, opened it to show her two delicious-smelling cheeseburgers and an obscene amount of French fries.
Okay, that passed.
The cocky grin Ben shot her confirmed that he knew she was thinking that.
“What’s the second?” he asked.
“You let me pick what we watch.”
His smile now was soft, his fingers on her cheek gentle. “Done,” he murmured.
And Stef had the feeling that she was done, too.
Done for him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ben
The dogs slept curled together on the bed in the front room.
Stef had dozed off a couple of minutes ago in his arms.
The show blared on TV.
Stargate.
He nearly laughed at remembering her quoting all those lines, her sighing obsession with the colonel who’d eventually become a general obvious.
But Ben hadn’t minded, not in the least, not when she was cuddled up next to him, her steady breath on his neck, her arms wrapped tightly around him. She stirred, and he knew he should tuck her into bed, take himself and Sweetheart home, but he’d brought all the gear hoping to get the invite to stay the night.
The thought of going back to his place, to his empty bed and that cold, large space wasn’t appealing.
“Ben?” she murmured, running her nose across his throat.
“Hmm?” he murmured back, sliding his hand gently up and down her back. She shivered, and fuck, he loved when she did that.
“Will you stay?”
He felt like fist-pumping, had to physically lock down the whoop inside him. “Of course,” he said once he could manage not sounding too much like an idiot.
“Mmm,” was her only response.
Smiling, he kept his hand moving, settling her further, waiting until her breathing had gone deep and slow again before carefully sitting up and carrying her into the bedroom.
The pups got up and followed him, Sweetheart trailing Fred, and he half-expected Fred to jump into bed ahead of him. Stef had teased him earlier about him having spent the previous evening sleeping in Fred’s spot, and that Fred wouldn’t stand for it. But the pooch barely even glanced at him as he went to the corner of the room and lay down on the cushy bed in the corner, Sweetheart right behind him.
After tucking Stef into bed, he moved to his bag in the front room, retrieving his phone and charger, finding a spare plug back in the bedroom to set it charging.
She was out, burrowed into the blankets, and he crawled into bed behind her, feeling another piece of his heart flow to her when she immediately rolled and burrowed into his embrace.
He wasn’t a man who liked cuddling.
But he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep without Stef in his arms.
Coffee roused him.
Along with Stef crawling back into bed on top of him.
Her hands slid along his bare skin, pulling him out of the fog of sleep, doing the remainder of the job that the coffee hadn’t
. He was hard already, not an uncommon morning occurrence, except this morning Stef’s hands were on his body, and he was granite, a throbbing pulse of need.
“Morning,” she whispered, her mouth pressing to his jaw, drifting down his throat, along his abdomen, tiny torturing presses of her mouth slowly moving down toward the waistband of his boxer briefs.
She tugged the material out of the way, and without warning, sucked his cock into her mouth.
Deeply.
His curse was garbled, his voice barely recognizable to his own ears, and then he cursed again when her hand joined the party, stroking as she sucked, and fuck . . . just that quickly he was seconds away from exploding.
Reaching under her armpits, he yanked her up his body, stealing her mouth in a scorching kiss as he wrestled the blankets to the side and flipped them so she was beneath him. Her eyes blazed and she’d changed, was wearing just a soft, fuzzy robe that had parted from his movements, revealing so much pale skin that his mouth watered with the need to taste.
“Are you wearing anything underneath this?” he asked roughly, trailing a hand up her side.
Her teeth nibbled at her bottom lip, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Why don’t you find out?”
That was a request he wouldn’t deny.
His fingers shook as he undid the robe.
Spoiler alert: she wasn’t wearing anything.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his gaze tracing over her body, cock twitching when her stare drifted down, too, and he wondered if the sight had her on the razor’s edge of control, like it had his—catching on the tips of her breasts, hardened and desperate for his mouth, then lower over the curve of her stomach he wanted to kiss his way across, then down to the flare of her hips. He wondered if the sight of his hand as it slipped between her thighs fractured her control to wisps like his.
“Fuck,” she echoed, legs spreading wider.
She was wet. He’d known that even before he touched her, could see it gathering on her skin, coating the insides of her thighs, allowing his fingers to slide through the hot, silken folds of her labia easily.
Her face was stark with desire, jaw clenching, eyes flared bright.
He slipped one thick finger inside her.